By Cynthia Lum
Paris in the spring. What could be better? I checked into my studio apartment in the Latin Quarter and am pleased to see that nothing has changed from when I stayed here last year. I’m more that a little tired after being up for 24 hours, but I grab a quick shower and head out to Roland Garros. Lugging my gear up and down many flights of stairs to and from the metro makes me wonder how the handicapped get along here. Of course in 1900 when the metro opened, no one thought about this sort of thing and nothing has changed for over 100 years. However, for getting around Paris this system is fast, easy and inexpensive.
Emerging from the station, I walk along the beautifully shaded Avenue Porte d’ Auteuil, lined with huge trees that border the French version of Central Park, the Bois de Boulogne. Ticket touts accost fans all the way to the entrance of Roland Garros. This is a huge business, reportedly bringing in a whopping 17 million euros in revenues for the fifteen days of play. Several of the sellers are recognizable from past years. They shout “cherche de place” which loosely translated means “looking for a place (ticket)?” and hold up handmade signs. Some lounge on motor bikes reading the paper between sales, while other are more aggressive moving up and down through the crowds, working deals. Some of them I recognize from past years, the tall one with long dreads is in his usual spot about halfway between the metro station and the entrance. I wonder if there is some sort of agreement among them as to territory. This is the only tournament where they ply their trade openly, with police paying no attention to them.
Presenting my official acceptance letter at the press gate I proceed to the press center to check in. Familiar scenes roll across my vision. The fashionable French are unmistakable here. Smartly dressed men and women waving cigarettes, talking with their hands, and sipping wine at the outdoor eating area, draw a sharp contrast to tourists in cargo shorts and flip flops.
Checking in, I get my press gift, an official French Open tee …very nice. I love the fact that they have cute French cut women’s shirts in small sizes rather than the usual men’s tee’s that only come in large and extra large that most events give to the media.
I get a locker and find my desk. I’ve lucked out…I’m at the end of the aisle with and empty desk next to me, so I have no one crowding me on either side. The gods are smiling on me.
Okay, now that I’ve figured out the wifi, found the match schedule on the TV monitor over my desk, had a bite to eat, said my hellos to everyone, I can’t find any other way to procrastinate, so it looks like I’ll have to actually go to work.
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