I became a tennis writer this year, covering the Sony Ericsson in Key Biscayne and the U.S. Open in Flushing Meadows, where I saw Tony Bennett and Frank Deford sitting in the VIP section of Arthur Ashe Stadium, watched Roger Federer walk in for his final press conference like a man headed to the gallows, and shook hands with Andrea Petkovic. On seeing me enter the room (I had requested a one-on-one interview, but two other reporters decided to join in) the bookish, joyous Serbian-German stood up, took a few steps in my direction and, with hand outstretched, introduced herself. At an event that gathered the world's greatest players, this was the most impressive thing I saw.
In November I interviewed Dita Von Teese at the Mondrian Hotel in South Beach (she thanked me for the interesting conversation), and two weeks later I went to a dinner at the W attended by Sean Combs, Adrien Brody, Chris Bosh and Paris Hilton. It couldn't hold a candle to the dinner I had had back in May with Jonathan Raban at Mandolin. (Talk about interesting conversations.)
I taught a number of travel writing courses - online and in person - and visited a few familiar places. Driving to Key West for a story, I spent a night at the Casa Marina (a step up from the usual Southwinds Motel) and added to the list of Great Florida Hotels I've Slept In. In Warsaw in June I got into the prison where Hania was born. (Story pending.) I missed the U.S. Open finals to fly to Prague. (Why hang around when Federer and Petkovic are gone?) I spent a long weekend at a writers' conference in Grand Cayman. (Not a misprint.) In November, I flew to Portugal and found the people - even in crisis - as warm and gracious as ever. (Portugal is one of those rare countries - Turkey is another - that make you feel not like a tourist but like a guest.)
And every weekday, when I was home, I wrote this blog. Thanks for reading it. See you next year.
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