Friis Frame

FRIIS FRAME OCTOBER 3, 2020

T H E O F F I C I A L I N - F L I G H T M A G A Z I N E O F F LY F R I I S A I R L I N E S

50 YEARS

AROUND THE WORLD WITH

MARLENE FRIIS

Contents

FRIIS FRAME 2020

1

A MESSAGE FROM MICHAEL

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NEW YORK CITY

24

MIDDELFART

BY M I C H A E L H E C H T

Take a Bite Out of New York with Marlene Friis

2

PERSONAL AD

BY HARVEEN KHERA

Passing through Middelfart Gateway to Marlene (and, Copenhagen)

Shark Looking for Cougar

BY L I Z M C M A H O N

THE MOON

D.F.H Flight #4

25

3

FORT GREENE

BY WAY N E G R E I N E R

Defrosted by Friis in Fort Greene

Rome-ing Around the Italian Capital With a Dear Old Friend

15

NEW ORLEANS

BY J A N I N E L AT H A M

4

CANTERBURY

Backyard Reflections Me and Marlene

BY K R I S P E R C I VA L

5

CYPRUS, TEL AVIV, AND VIENNA

Good Karma Chameleon

BY U L L A F R I I S

17

EAST GERMANY + DENHAM SPRINGS, LA.

6

NORWAY

Jucking it up in Jotunheimen

Krieger, Komm Raus und Spiel Warriors, Come Out and Play

28

DANMARK

BY DA N E L L E M A N T H E Y

BY A N N E O G A N

Besøg på Hestehospital

BY T I N A LU N D

7

SYRIA

18

COACHELLA

Jordanian Stylist Sees the Light….. Blond on the Road to Damascus.

Little Ms. Beautiful Person

BY N O N I R E D D I N G

Gräfin von Götterdämmerung’s

Sjømannskirke Odyssey

BY M A R G A R E T H OW Z E

BY ANA LISA VETERE ARELLAN O

26

FRANKLINTON

BY L AU R A S C H R A D E R - K R I E K

Friis’s 4Runner Run to Franklinton Fun A Quick Covid Respite

16

NEW ORLEANS

BY B R I D G E T B A R T H E L E M Y

Oh, the Places We Have Been!

BY C I N DY S I E G R I S T

BY L I Z T H O R P E

19

SAN FRANCISCO

8

NEW ORLEANS

Much Love

Mit Minde til Marlene

BY DAV I D H E C H T

BY D O R T H E Ø S T E R G A A R D

9

CAIRO

2 0

BARCELONA

The Cairo Mail Plane

The Little Known Week in Marlene Friis’ Life

BY A I N O & M A R T I N F R I I S

BY R E I KO T S U S H I M A

11

SAN FRANCISCO

21

LONDON

Twenty Two Years of Friis-ing Awesome Friendship

The Usual Sandgasse Suspects

BY P H I L I P PA (“ P I P ”) PA G E

BY J A N E G O U L D

12

FLY FRIIS DESTINATIONS

22

WHITSTABLE

The Warm Fridge

BY C H R I S T I A N H E R H E I M

27

ROME

It Was Hot and Steamy in Rome

BY R H AY E S L AU G H TO N

29

GRINZING

Grinzing in the 80s and a Friendship that Rocks!

BY S A R A N O R R I S

A MESSAGE FROM MICHAEL

F

rom Aarhus to Zimbabwe, Marlene has stepped foot in places all around the world, and moreover, has touched the hearts and minds of good people everywhere she has gone.

This edition of Friis-Frame, the Official In-Flight Magazine of Fly Friis Airlines, is dedicated to Marlene’s five-decade journey. My own voyage with Marlene began over 25 years ago, and this cover depicts one of our first destinations – the original AJ Hackett bungy bridge in Queenstown, New Zealand. Marlene leapt off the bridge, in a swimmer’s-perfect swan dive, and my heart leapt right after her. We have been traveling together ever since.

As you read these pages, certain themes will emerge: Marlene’s humor, her passion, her intellect, and her penchant for evading arrest. But I think the overriding impression that you will get is that, over five decades and six continents, Marlene is a friend nonpareil, whose warmth, empathy, and loyalty is legendary around the world.

So, on behalf of Fly Friis Airlines, the Official Airline of The Royal Duchy of Friistikistan, and our highly-trained crew, including Pilot Kaj Friis-Hecht, and Chief Engineer and Pianist Dexter Friis-Hecht, I invite you to sit back, relax, and enjoy your travels with Friis.

– MICHAEL HECHT

1

PERSONAL AD

SHARK LOOKING FOR COUGAR Married shark looking for married cougar for friendship. Must like taking sweltering walks in the park while discussing ideas, linguistics and race in America. Should enjoy good food, quirky art, and a wicked sense of humor. Preference that cougar not encourage crazy ideas like taking in homeless Danish kids or creating interactive museum exhibits. Preference for a cougar who wears wigs, shouts at parades, embraces life and is a wonderful friend. – LIZ MCMAHON, NEW ORLEANS

2

FORT GREENE

Defrosted

by Friis in Fort Greene

E

arly Spring 2003. The twins are six weeks old and in constant need.

Winter has been a blur¾days run together, nights are long, sleep erratic. I am frozen in a routine unrelenting, lonely, draining. Budding trees bring me outside. It takes one hour at least for us to leave the apartment¾a three-story walk-up on the edge of Fort Greene. One baby at a time is fed, burped, diapered, swaddled and strapped into a bassinet, then placed on the first landing. I carry the second one to the second landing, careful not to strain my decimated stomach muscles, then go back and retrieve the first, until we are all three on the ground floor. I wrestle open the double stroller¾a robust, graceless Graco¾snap in each bassinet-carrying baby, and try to navigate the heavy double doors, then the five steps to the street. If we make it out with neither one of us crying, it’s a miracle. But wait. Did I remember the snacks? Thankfully yes. This time.

A block away is Underwood Park. Mostly I try to nap on a bench, away from the other mothers, who talk with condescending pleasure of their birthing experiences; all too eager to impart unsolicited advice on diaper rash, fussy eaters,

balding babies. Their disdain for my non-organic diapers, my ‘unnatural’ birth, my twelve weeks (only!) of breast-feeding, is easy to measure. I don’t know what to say to them.

This day I try the swings. I push one baby, then the other one side by side until we are all in a soporific trance. A woman next to me, with close-cropped blonde hair, pushing a similar-sized baby, snaps me out of my stupor, when she frankly asks, “Are they twins?” I nod. She makes eye contact and smiles, “I feel for you,” she says.

If I had not met you Marlene, in those first weeks, months and years, I am not sure what I would have done. From your first words to me I knew that at last someone understood just a little of what it was like to be a new mother. Perhaps it was our Europeanness that bonded us¾quick as we were to mock those American mothers, for which motherhood seemed to provide infinite gratification, or maybe it was just simply that we took solace is knowing we were both woefully ill-prepared for the harsh reality of being moms. That first year we met often in and around the parks in Fort Greene – Underwood, Camel, Purple, and of course Fort Greene Park. You introduced me to Kris and Sarah, with whom we set-up regular playdates, so that none of us felt isolated. You helped me remember that I was a person, not just a mother; that I had my own needs and desires, which were separate from Tessa and Oliver, and importantly, you helped me to laugh about the struggles we both endured. Because of that chance meeting in Underwood Park I finally felt normal. Thank you always Marlene!

I have no photos of us at that time probably because I just wanted to get through it, but here are a couple during better times when the kids were older!

– J A N I N E L AT H A M , B R O O K LY N , N Y

3

C A N T E R B U RY

Backyard Reflections Me and Marlene

R

ecently, I ventured into my mosquito-infested backyard to check on the dwarf sunflowers I planted earlier this spring. No blooms were in evidence. Had they flowered while I was away, or were the seeds actually duds? I hope it was the former, because I bought them from noted Maine supplier, Johnny’s Seeds, and they are usually very reliable.

The lack of blossoms brought to mind an old photo of Marlene I have kicking around, in which she sports a fashion-forward, flowered apron, and holds a tray with a banana that is past its prime. Even though this picture is from long ago, I was immediately thrown back to our time together in Canterbury. Marlene and I worked a variety of menial jobs then - me, at a sleepy bookstore and a dubious Mexican restaurant, Cafe des Amis, which microwaved all of its food.

Marlene, at a Whitstable bingo parlour and the aptly named Pizza Express, a popular Canterbur y eater y that offers moderately tasty fare.

I think this photo references Marlene’s ongoing struggles with demanding customers and unsupportive management.

Waiting on people and negotiating the fraught world of food service

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certainly developed vital, lifelong skills for us both. And it was always fun to grouse with someone in the know!

Did you know that there are over 70 varieties of mosquitos in Brooklyn? As I swatted at a West Nile-carrying Culex (or was it an Asian Tiger Mosquito, a recent newcomer to our fair borough), I recalled that biting bugs did not seem to be a problem back then in Kent.

Whether enjoying an open-air pint at the Neptune or crossing campus to catch an evening performance of Marlene’s Abba cover band at Keynes, no biting bugs hindered our progress or infringed upon our good times. As an Agnetha stand-in, Marlene did not have to worry that an unsightly, inflamed bug bite would mar her lively and savvy depiction

of the Swedish superstar. Thank you for the music. Those were the days, my friend!

I frowned as I stooped to pick up several pieces of trash. The block is ringed round with buildings, and I always marvel at the amount of rubbish that floats through our walled fortress. One piece was the scrap of a bill that included personal information. It reminded me of Marlene’s strong commitment to feminism, which was revealed when the college assumed (with layers upon layers of misogyny) that because Martin and Marlene had the same last name, he was in charge of her, and directed correspondence to her via him.

Her immediate and strong reaction ensured that the University of Kent will never subject another student

to that mistake!

As I stumbled over the aging cedar recliner in the center of the backyard, my frown deepened, and not because of the wood, which contains natural oils and is especially resistant to damage caused by bugs, decay or water. I frowned because Marlene’s birthday is imminent, and we should all be able to be together to celebrate. Alas, that joy is currently prohibited by the global pandemic.

In the meantime, I shall be content with the many fond memories I have of my time with Marlene, and wish her a happy birthday from afar! *Note: lovingly written in the style of The Bethel Citizen, a regional Maine weekly promoted as a news-source, comprised mainly of ads and local gossip columns.

– K R I S P E R C I VA L , B R O O K LY N , N Y

C Y P R U S, T E L AV I V, A N D V I E N N A

I

’ve been asked to write a piece about my sister who will be turning half a century old.

Commemorate her for the person who she was, is and will be. I’ve discovered that this is difficult because people are like chameleons in some ways, in that they adapt and change to their environment, and that they are different to each of us: the child to my mother, the sister to me and my brother, the parent to Dexter and Kaj, the Aunt to Niels, the friend to so many and the wife to Michael.

Marlene and I have been close and ferocious enemies all at the same time.

Sharing a room all our life (until she finally left for University) we fought for every centimetre of the room, dividing it meticulously. We have also shared secrets, danced wildly dressed in our bright blue and screaming red disco pants and singing loudly to everything from Abba, Duran Duran and the songs played by the British Army radio station in Cyprus – Camouflage, I shall say no more. We have protected each other from complete sleezebags at beaches in Tel Aviv and Larnaca, to name just two memorable beaches. We have helped each other out when it counted, actually me more than her, as I’ve always been the more mature, perhaps even a bit boring of the two of us – let me just say Ellen Court, central heating, warm shower and soft bed and Billund plane ticket – you still owe me.

Over the years we have been more apart than together, each on different continents. While I still lead the nomadic life of a new country every 4-5 years,

GOOD KARMA CHAMELEON Marlene has certainly embraced New Orleans more than any other place in the world that she has been to, and she has been to quite a few. For me, that has been very strange to witness.

Nonetheless there is one characteristic that she has maintained, for good or for bad, throughout these years and I can’t find the word to adequately describe it, so I will give you two examples, one in which it annoyed me, and another where I just loved it.

This summer we only had one week together and I would have given anything for just one spontaneous evening with her, not pre-planned and organised, who is cooking and what, where to be at what time, who we (brother, husbands and kids) should visit etc. Just an impromptu evening with nobody but us, but with Marlene, this one week was filled with daily activities and planned visits to extended family. It was so annoying. The other example is my bridal shower. Marlene was at that time living in San Francisco, so I know that she had help from my friends in Vienna, but that’s not the point. We had a great dinner, there were great speeches, plenty of champagne, good wines and then

our favourite bars were visited culminating in American Bar which served some of the best and most expensive cocktails in town. Now Marlene and I have friends from all over and some flew in just for the wedding, Friday evening would be the only time I would really be able to see them, but what to do, when traditionally the women go out in one group and the men in another group? Simple, ignore traditions. Marlene doesn’t care about sexist traditions; she cares about friends and family. So that’s what she planned, we ended up everyone together at the American Bar and Pierre and I had the chance to be with all our friends, regardless of their sex, before they left town on the Sunday flights. We had many cocktails and at the right time, Marlene gathered us girls and we left the bar, leaving the boys to pay the hefty tab. That’s who she is, a person who’s dedication to friends and family is beyond words.

– U L L A F R I I S, TO K YO, J A PA N

5

N O R WAY

Jucking It Up in Jotunheimen

I

t was a heat wave in the summer of 2019 when Marlene Friis and Danelle Manthey set off to conquer the largest national park in Norway. Jotunheimen is known to be quite popular with local Norwegian’s but is still a bit off the beaten path for most visitors who would be attracted to the country’s lush Fjords instead of the barren moon-like interior of the country. BUT leave it to Ms. Friis and Ms. Manthey to pick a more obscure vacation for themselves.

As they’re always up to the challenge to try something most people might overlook.

They were armed not only with their intense thirst for adventure that lay ahead in a new local but also, and equally as important, a thirst for the local beer. They met up in Oslo and Ms. Friis was the tour

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guide of the city. They immediately headed for the local park, with the local beer, and got busted by the polite but firm parks police. Not to be thwarted they continued on their way to a riotous outdoor market where they mixed with ease with the locals. The next morning they boarded the early bus that took them through the countryside and an awaiting ferry. This is where the adventure began. For the next few days it would be them against the elements. Fortunately they had good weather on their side; for trekking hour upon hour through barren valleys with no clear path could have been treacherous. BUT our intrepid trekkers prevailed and crossed valley after valley with nothing but glaciers, boulders and streams in their view.

And what boulders they did cross!

There were large boulders and small boulders and boulders on boulders that they thought would never end. Hour upon hour of no other people in site, until they arrived at a new cabin each night that was plucked down in the middle of what seemed like nowhere but still teaming with life.

Then there were cards to play and new friends to make and a warm dinner made for their weary souls.

They laughed and raised glasses while telling stories of the day and slid into sleep before the sun set.

And finally, on the last day, emerging from the alien landscape,

the fair ytale Reindeer showed himself.

What a delight from the pattern greys and browns their eyes had grown accustomed to.

Ms. Friis and Ms. Manthey conquered this new land and felt strong and elated to know that they could test themselves in this way.

Did they run down a mountain with a dog on their shoulders as the Norweign men seemed keen on doing? NO! But they did get to witness it and that, in their minds, was just as good.

– DA N E L L E M A N T H E Y, N E W YO R K

SY R I A

Jordanian Stylist Sees the Light... Blond on the Road to Damascus

T

ravelling by bus from Amman to Damascus for the prestigious World Hair Show, a young Jordanian hair stylist saw the light literally radiating from the head of the golden haired Marlene Friis. Enchanted by her glowing Danish locks, the ambitious hair artist saw the rare beauty as his chance to win the coveted trophy for ‘Best Hair in Show’ at the Damascus, Meridien Hotel hair competition the following day. He charmed and attempted to persuade Marlene and me, her rather less interesting brown haired companion, to be models in the Syrian fashion event of the year. Free

spirited wayfarers, budding feminists and not necessarily pro the fashion industry, our ego’s were not so easily enticed. An offer of US$100, towards further exciting adventure was however not so easy to turn down. We were also just returning from a clandestine night camping in the forbidden Nabataean Caves of Petra, dusty, hairy and weary, the idea of some five star Damascean luxury was appealing.

Having never attended a hair competition, we pictured ourselves lined up in chairs to be styled in front of judges. We arrived nonchelantly at the hotel the next day, little did we know that we had become hapless victims of fashion and were whisked up to a hotel room for a three hour stint of make-up and styling. Marlene’s shining tresses were painstakingly fashioned by the doting stylist into a glowing crown fashioned from her Viking gold. Wearing a gorgeous satin aquamarine dress, which offset her sapphire eyes and finished with a set of tottering turquoise heels. She was then spirited away, leaving me to be transformed into the fanstasy lesbian bride of the heavyset and slightly bearded Russian entrant, Valeria.

Unsure of where she was heading Marlene was herded to a backstage area and pushed through a curtain onto a shocking flashbulb intense catwalk in front of a crowded room full of spectators.

She sashayed up and down the catwalk like a total pro thinking that she had the $100 in the bag. It was only when she returned to the hotel room with the stylist that she became aware that when she lifted her armpit he was more interested in the secret gold nestled beneath them then her crowning glory. Asking for a closer look, he dove in, inhaling as he went, Marlene’s instant reaction to clamp her armpit down on his nestled proboscis.

He rubbed his nose, apologised sheepishly and asked for a second look at his first experience of golden pubes. Marlene slowly raised her arm to give him a second chance but her armpit’s magnetic charms were too much for the poor Jordanian and his nose was once more clamped in the vicelike grip of Odin’s armpit.

Heading back from my graceless catwalk debut I met her at the lift doors where she found me struggling for two minutes to get my bridal stiletto unstuck from rubber carpet of the lift.

“We are leaving” she said furiously rubbing make-up off her face.

“What about the money?” Her look said that now wasn’t the time and its force magically released stumbling out on my ungainly heels voluminous merangue skirts foaming around me. Racing to the room we managed to get out in five minutes, remarkable considering, that the do and dress had taken three hours to get into. Face still caked in make-up we legged it out the room leaving behind the bewildered Valeria, and the goldstruck Jordanian. We ran from the hotel onto the streets of Damascus laughter building the more distance we put between ourselves and the hotel, no richer but I hope at least some dignity intact.

Next installment: We don Jordanian headscarves for an assault on the Iranian embassy.

– N O N I R E D D I N G , B R I G H TO N

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NEW ORLEANS

MIT MINDE TIL MARLENE

J

eg husker ikke helt årstallet men unge var vi.

Jeg havde for en kort periode fået lov til at låne huset på Kåsvænget af Aino og Mogens.

Det var den gang hvor Marlene rejste rundt med en rygsæk og, som jeg oplevede det, tog livet som det kom. Jeg har altid beundret Marlene, for hendes måde at opleve og tackle verden på.

Nå men jeg boede som sagt i huset på Kåsvænget hvor Marlene en dag melder sin ankomst. Aftalen med Aino og Mogens var at jeg måtte gerne bo i huset, men Marlene Martin og Ulla skulle til hver en tid kunne bo der. Og det var jeg helt indforstået med.

Marlene dukkede op. Frisk, svedig, beskidt, i slidte cowboybukser og en T-shirt som engang havde været hvid, og med et stort smil og kæmpe

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kram. Jeg blev glad men også overvældet idet Marlene og jeg ikke var helt så tætte dengang, som vi er nu. Da vi var små var det mere Ulla og jeg der var sammen og Marlene var en af de “store” unge kusiner i familien.

Marlene og jeg lavede noget mad. Jeg husker ikke helt hvad men nok noget meget simpelt som pasta og ketchup. Mens vi lavede maden, spiste det og drak en flaske vin, snakkede vi som aldrig før. Om familien, kærester og livet vi havde foran os. Det var her, der for mig kom et helt specielt bånd mellem os.

Jeg havde det svært i den periode men Marlene gjorde at jeg kom igennem en træls tid på en god måde. Hun lærte mig at se livet fra en ny vinkel og mest af alt. Gør det med livet JEG vil.

Marlene, du er den kusine jeg i mit voksenliv er tættest med. Og trods afstanden så når vi ses,

taler vi som var det i går, vi sidst så hinanden.

Jeres hjem står altid åben for mig og min familie. Det er jeg dybt taknemlig over.

Vores tur til New Orleans glemmer vi aldrig.

Du og din familie gav os den vildeste oplevelse og vi kan ikke vente til vi får mulighed for igen at komme over til jer. Mardi Gras var en oplevelse som sidder så dybt i os og som vi håber at komme til at opleve igen sammen med jer.

Marlene, du er en fantastisk person som jeg er stolt over at kalde min kusine.

Arhh, den røde hånd på Kåsvænget kunne jeg godt have undværet men alt andet ved dig er bare Fabiolas.

Lots of LOVE – D O R T H E Ø S T E R G A A R D, S T R I B , D E N M A R K

CAIRO

The Cairo Mail Plane

I

n the late 70’s there was a weekly UN plane flying from Jerusalem to Cairo with mail, peacekeepers, general UN staff and the like. Our dad had a friend in the UN agency that operated the plane and so it was possible for us to hitch a ride with the flying mail service when it had extra capacity.

We kids thought it sounded very exciting to fly with a UN plane but it turned out to be more exciting than we had bargained for. At first glance the plane looked like could be expected .A medium sized propeller

plane with seats for around 50,painted white except for large blue UN letters.

Apart from a small group of soldiers we were the only passengers.

The two pilots were British colonial types into their sixties who we had been told had WW2 experience. They certainly looked and sounded the part in their olive-green uniforms, one of them the proud owner of a twirling moustache.

The plane was fueled and ready to go when the first problems began to appear. The two pilots were unable to close the doors.

For about 15 minutes the pilots

struggled sweating and cursing.

They finally succeeded, smiled reassuringly at us kids and disappeared into the cockpit.

The difficulties however weren’t over yet. It turned out the nosewheel was stuck and unable to turn. One of the pilots explained the situation over the intercom but told us not to worry, they would steer the plane to it’s takeoff position by braking on the left wheel to turn left, braking on the right wheel to turn right..hmmm…

Someone in the family commented somewhat unhelpfully that it was Friday the 13..Nervous laughter was

followed by an uneasy silence.

However the plane “braked” it’s way to it’s takeoff position and got itself airborne without further incident.

After around an hours flight we landed safely in Cairo and “braked” our way to our stopping position. It felt good to be on solid ground and even the door was in better spirits, yielding to the pilots’ efforts without too much resistance were now ready to enjoy the wonders of Cairo .The pyramids, the Sphinx, the Egyptian museum and the old souk lay before us.

– A I N O & M A R T I N F R I I S, VIENNA AUSTRIA

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VISIT BEAUTIFUL

FR I I STIK I S TA N !

BOOK NOW!

SAN FRANCISCO

Twenty Two Years of Friis-ing Awesome Friendship

T

he Friis-Gould friendship began many moons ago in the glamorous Fillmore / Tenderloin district of San Funkcisco in the late 1990’s. The young women became fast friends at San Francisco International Film Festival working for publicist Hilary Hart. During long, luxurious cigarette breaks on the pavement surrounded by drug addicts and urine, the two young Europeans sealed their friendship with clever banter and a love for wit that they would appreciate in each other for the rest of their lives.

After SFIFF they continued working together in the bougie city of Mill Valley at the Mill Valley Film Festival. Marlene worked in the programming department under the watchful eye of ex-pat, Cannes connoisseur, Zoe Elton. Here, cigarette breaks took place under majestic redwoods and on walks to the quaint Mill Valley Market to buy English digestive biscuits. Unfortunately, the details of those days are now a blur, but some key points include the Kabuki Theater, Eddy Street, a Vespa, Peets coffee, the Depot, Mark Fishkin, and the Throckmorton Theater.

Marlene and Jane were working their tails off for peanuts, but having the time of their lives. They were surrounded by cool film types, had no responsibilities, and were partying at weekends like it was 1999. One illegal warehouse rave of note they attended was in a massive old building in a neglected area of SF. Again, the details are gone, but KLF’s 3 am Eternal, and The Orb’s Little Fluffy Clouds were featured in the soundtrack… While Marlene and Jane were hanging at film festivals, Michael was preparing to open the restaurant to end all restaurants in the Mission, the one and only Foreign Cinema.

FC cannot be talked about without mentioning the epic opening night. Specifically, the Burning Man female drummers dancing on the tables

and the conservative suits wondering what on earth they’d invested in, and secretly loving it.

It is a mammoth task to squeeze twenty plus years of Marlene magic into a short article. (Are you aware that Marlene created a friendzine? It was a small magazine that rotated editors and contributors who were hand-picked friends of hers. It didn’t have a long life, but was fabulous while it was alive..) But one particular time that I will always treasure is when Marlene visited me one summer in England. She had been at home in Denmark to visit her family, and I was at home visiting mine. She came to England and basically took out a second mortgage to buy a British Rail train ticket from London to Rugby. (Booking in advance is key!). Marlene and I had a brilliant day sitting in my parent’s tranquil and idyllic cottage garden, as bumble bees buzzed from flower to flower. Pimms must

have been served, as it always is there, and we went to the extremely famous Rugby Football Museum. Marlene was also incredibly blessed to be taken to the actual field where the legendary William Webb Ellis picked up the ball and ran, and where Rugby football began.

There are numerous other things I could write about, such as the Hecht-Friis wedding of the century, or my amazing weekend in New Orleans with them. But alas, my word limit is up. To conclude, to me, one of the most significant signs of a friendship is traveling with or to see friends which we’ve done numerous times over the years.

Another is being able to pick-up exactly where you left off, which we do with brilliant ease.

Marlene is truly one of the most wonderful and brilliant human beings, and I am honored to be her friend.

– J A N E G O U L D, N A PA

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F LY F R I I S D E S T I N AT I O N S

AFRICA

ASIA

Thailand

Denmark

Burkina Faso

India

Turkey

Finland

Egypt

Iraq

Ghana

Israel

EUROPE

Germany

Kenya

Japan

Austria

Greece

Mauritius

Jordan

Belgium

Hungary

Mozambique

Kuwait

Bosnia and Herzegovina

Iceland

Senegal

Lebanon

Bulgaria

Republic of Ireland

South Africa

Nepal

Corsica

Italy

Uganda

Philippines

Croatia

Kosovo

Zambia

Saudi Arabia

Cyprus

Luxembourg

Zimbabwe

Syria

Czech Republic

Monaco

France

F LY F R I I S D E S T I N AT I O N S

Montenegro

Sweden

Netherlands

Switzerland

Norway

United Kingdom

SOUTH AMERICA

Poland

Vatican City

Colombia

Romania

NORTH AMERICA

OCEANIA / AUSTRALASIA

Russia

Barbados

Australia

San Marino

Canada

New Zealand

Serbia

Costa Rica

Slovakia

Jamaica

Slovenia

Mexico

Spain

Panama

United States of America

Portugal

MORE DESTINIATIONS ADDED EVERY YEAR!

N E W YO R K C I T Y

THE MOON

Take a Bite Out of New York with Marlene Friis

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arlena said “so I filled out the paper work and Kaj is competing for Chopped Chef Junior” Who knew It would lead to a delicious trip to New York and Brooklyn.

While Kaj was filming we jaunted over to Brooklyn by way of the skywalk. Stretching our legs we sucked in the views, what a beautiful morning. Stopped and bought handmade t-shirts from a Hey Brah from Kenner which just made it that much sweeter.

We took in the exhibition of African Masks at the Brooklyn Museum and by this time Waynes stomach was rumbling and had worked up a lunch sized appetite. Marlena took us to Junior’s an old-school feel. Vintage marquee signs hang over the entrance. A pressed-aluminum-lined bar with stationary stools sits just inside with booths filling the large space of this third-generation family business. The restaurant won fame for its cheesecake, which Rosen’s grandfather Harry developed with baker Eigel Peterson back in 1950 and yes it was delicious!

We met up back at the hotel in New York. Kaj and Michael were exhilarated from a fun filled day of filming and we were excited to hear all the details. Happy with himself Kaj was surprised and delighted that one of the judges was Marcus Samuelsson, world renowned chef and founder of Red Rooster Harlem. So off to Harlem we went.

That evening we escaped from the hustle of the city outside and found ourselves downstairs in Red Rooster’s best kept secret, Ginny’s Supper Club. This classic Harlem speakeasy vibe created a perfectly memorable night of celebration.

Located in the heart of Harlem, named in honor of the legendary Harlem speakeasy that attracted neighborhood folk, jazz greats, and noteworthy figures of the 20th century from Adam Clayton Powell Jr. to Nat King Cole and James Baldwin, Red Rooster Harlem serves comfort food that celebrates the roots of American cuisine and the neighborhood’s diverse culinary traditions. It shares the story of Harlem with guests and offer a space that celebrates local artists, musicians and culinary talents alike.

We raised our glasses in celebration to a time that is etched in our hearts.

– HARVEEN KHERA, OLD JEFFERSON

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- WAY N E G R E I N E R , O L D J E F F E R S O N

NEW ORLEANS

Gräfin von Götterdämmerung’s Sjømannskirke Odyssey

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t’s Mardi Gras Day and the Hot Flashers, surrounded by media and paparazzi, had journeyed far. We needed facilities and refreshments and found ourselves in an airy Scandinavian-style mid-century architecture church to rest and refresh. I wondered to myself, what is this before my eyes, is this a mirage?

What did we do to deserve these nice clean facilities on such a day? How did this place suddenly appear? Could it have something to do with this international woman of mystery outfitted in a wedding gown?

“The Divine Ms. M is doing her best to provide good, solid, religious and recreational services for the Hot Flashers to keep them out of undesirable places,” Norwegian consul Jørgen Werner, the church’s chairman, told a reporter. “This space is a supportive, healing place,” Werner said. “We hope this place is an empowering place — not an intimidating place.” While Jørgen was most accommodating, we were ready to move on and

say goodbye to that haven of plenty. We continued our journey downtown for a thoroughly enjoyable Mardi Gras afternoon, and true to form, ‘Ms M’ and her playful husband, so-called Michael, led us to nice, clean facilities whenever necessary, but the Norwegian Seaman’s Church left an indelible mark on the Hot Flashers’ in posterity.

Later that year or perhaps the next, who’s counting?

Costumed in my best dress, wig and eyelashes, I found myself sitting opposite this fine couple in a limousine traveling to the Cochon Cotillion. The Divine Ms. M again dazzled in haute couture, and Michael was King of the Soiree. What a fun time filled with food and drink!

As it so happens, that was just the beginning of the good times. Many athletic events, dining and parties would soon follow and continue! We are looking forward to many more fun times with Ms. M, aka, the Prop Queen, or more appropriately, Dr. Prop QueenW

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE Bounce! at the Warrior Dash Kick some balls with the gals Shamrock Run: ‘How ‘bout some Guinness?’

Ladies who lunch Gløggfest: did you see the ice sculpture this year?

Werk from Home: The Prop Queen will make you giggle

– L AU R A S C H R A D E R - K R I E K , T U L A N E

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NEW ORLEANS

Oh, the Places We Have Been!

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hen I think of all the places I have been with Marlene, I would have to say that they are all in our mutually adopted and beloved NOLA, and that we didn’t have to travel far to have wonderful adventures.

As ESL- teaching colleagues, office mates, and friends at Delgado Community College, we first ventured out on Delgado’s lovely campus. We often traversed the area between Building One and the Student Life Center for a fountain drink, ordered tuna sandwiches from the Subway across the street, lingered on the comfy patio of Café Navarre for lunch, and took many a brisk walk in the beguiling City Park.

Then, as Marlene created and refined her role as the ESL Program’s “animatrice” extraordinaire, our activities expanded and our merry band grew.

Together, we attended Delgado plays, cheered on our teams at DCC baseball and basketball games, attended spring concerts, and consumed more than our fair share of champagne at the Division Christmas parties. We frequented the local watering holes, lifting our glasses in the company

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of meat on a spit, roasting on the patio of Mo Pho’s in the balmy New Orleans winter. We have often been the first eager and thirsty customers of the afternoon at the Second Line Brewery. We have had coffee next to the tombstones at the local headshop-café, The Sacred Grounds, and convened at too many other Mid City restaurants and bars to mention.

Throughout the years, we have also been fortunate to pass a good time in and around Marlene and Michael’s Uptown house, who have generously shared their neighborhood, their home, and their spirit of fun and zest for living with us. Who knew that our Christmas tradition would include drinking gluck from one of the scores of unmatched mugs set out willy-nilly on their kitchen counter, or that Mardi Gras parades would start and finish with an IPA from their fridge. Other times, their home served as a launch pad to other adventures. We’ve strolled and danced our way up Magazine Street and back, and once we even went to the Prytania and imagined ourselves as part of the inhabitants of Downton Abbey, dawling.

Of course, for me, one of the most memorable

places that I went to with Marlene was the Sugar Bowl in the Superdome. I don’t remember the year, but as a proud graduate of The University of Michigan, I remember that it was the Wolverines versus Virginia Tech. It was so thoughtful of Marlene to invite me, (but that’s how she rolls!) I had always wanted to go to a Michigan Championship game. Marlene and her Aunt and Uncle were good sports and put on the blue and gold t-shirts I just happened to have in the car.

In full regalia, we walked past the newly built Champion Square, took wonderful seats in the arena, and witnessed a Michigan Championship victory. GO BLUE! Yet, I must say that although Marlene and I have been on some really gnarley adventures, my absolute favorite destination with Marlene is the conversation itself. Her conversation is always sparkling, intelligent, witty, observant, and illuminating. She has taught me the truth about the Vikings, that their main impact on the world was in the area of hygiene and agriculture, and she has taught me that non-native speaking spies always have a tell.

Through our talks, I quickly recognized that we were kindred spirits of place and temperament, and we often liked to delve into the cultural perspectives and behaviors of the north vs the south. Indeed, my most treasured memories of Marlene will be the time we shared in our little office, decorated with the posters of our past and present lives. There, as creatures of the lands of strong work ethics, we would often sit quietly with our noses buried in our computers, comfortably and productively working on our class materials. At other times, we would talk about our classes, our families, our plans, our thoughts, our issues. And, by some miracle, after talking to Marlene, who always listens comprehensively and empathetically, I always feel invigorated, stronger, and better!

So, as I picture Marlene and I taking a break from work and simply speaking together in our office, on campus or in City Park, I am so happy to have a friend who is, in herself, one of my favorite destinations on Earth!

Happy Birthday, Marlene and many more adventures and conversations to come!

– C I N DY S I E G R I S T, D E LG A D O

E A S T G E R M A N Y + D E N H A M S P R I N G S, L A .

Krieger, Komm Raus und Spiel Warriors, Come Out and Play

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aturday Morning Fall 2012 and I am asking myself why I am rising before the sun and dressing out in an East German athletic uniform. Warrior Dash here we come! My teammates Friis, Hecht, and Schrader, and I, Frau Bauer were heading out to conquer the wilds of the NorthShore in that faraway land known as Denham Springs, LA. If you are looking to challenge yourself, try this cross between a standard High School cross country course and something out of an early episode of Survivor Island. Warrior Dash participation was the brainchild of our ever-adventurous leader Lil’ Marlene. Upon her advice, we carefully crafted state-of-the-art DDR tees with our German heritage proudly lettered on the back. Rounding out our ensemble was the requisite sweat bands and tube socks. We were feeling fine, but in hindsight, spending time on athletic conditioning would have been smarter than the endless hours on-line searching for iron-on decals and assembling the fine crafted tees.

As the morning started, we hung around waiting for our wave to be called to the starting line – that should have been the first “eye-opener” for this experience – why are they sending us in waves?

Obstacle number one involved swimming/wading/drowning through a backhoe dugout swimming pool of mud (and what was that smell?!). These white tube socks will never get clean. As we squished along through the woods still pumped up with adrenaline, we coaxed each other on, convincing ourselves THIS - WAS - THE - BEST - IDEA – EVER! The obstacles are just too numerous to describe in exquisite detail but involve a balance beam, in which one “noted” participant within our group actually “bounced”, a requisite Marine belly crawl through sludge, up and over a wall, up and over another wall, up and over a wall so high – who was that person boosting me up from behind?! And then the mother of them all – a wall with ropes and people falling right and left but WAIT! If that woman with one leg can get to the top, surely this middle-aged mom and her fierce competitive and dedicated (and slightly deflated) companions can do it too! And we slogged on….

Little did we know that no Warrior Dash is complete without the final dash and jump through a wall of fire – I am crossing that task off my bucket list! An experience I will never forget, nor want to forget, Warrior Dash 2012. What does our dear adventurous Marlene have in store next?

– ANNE OGAN, NEW ORLEANS

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C OAC H E L L A

Little Ms. Beautiful Person

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here is a place of unspeakable beauty and magic that rises from the hallowed grounds of the Empire Polo Club in California’s Indio Valley.

It is a place where the Kardashians’ kulture klub exists alongside yours and mine, if only for a few fleeting days each year. Hot, arid days soften into crisp, dark nights, punctuated by a smattering of desert stars, the glow of one hundred thousand iphone 11s, and the incessant throb of Childish Gambino. At least in 2019.

Back in 2007 things were different.

There was no $9,500 Shikar-style yurt for 2, complete with air-conditioning and late-night snacks. But there was a fully refurbished VW pop-top camper

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van, with some bags of chips acquired from a nearby quickie mart, and a semi-private loft where you could grind your jaw one final time before drifting off above your brother-in-law and his new girlfriend. It was going to be mint.

That was the year Rage Against the Machine had the main stage and some guy named Tiesto played so loudly in a little tent that I’m sure your hearing aid days were accelerated ten-fold. You may recall we were blessed with a pharmacological bounty earned by your 10 months of hard labor growing baby Kaj, and ensuing months of general anxiety, depression and dissociation with your identity. You know, the joys of new motherhood. But you were

generous and happy to give us all the tools we’d need to just. relax.

So relax we did. We rolled into the parking lot on a dry, sunny Friday afternoon. The air had that desert clarity where everything is so sharp and so defined that in my mind’s eye I can still see the oohing and aahing admiration at our impeccable ‘70s ride. We enjoyed the sleep of kings on 2 inch wool-covered foam platforms and woke to take our Little Ms. Sunshine for a spin into town, for what reason I can’t remember.

I believe it was on the highway when the van dropped its transmission, or whatever it’s called, and it simply became impossible to shift.

We coasted into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn and sat on the curb,

waiting for Hertz to deliver us a vehicle. We abandoned the pop-top in the back row to await her renovator and owner.

Our return to Coachella, still in desert-clear air, was shrouded in the mocking, judgmental gaze of all who had arrived by any means necessary except our own. We were the only mini-van in sight. I’m pretty sure that’s when we agreed 5 Xanax made an excellent dinner and out we skipped for a night of revelry.

David and I returned many hours later to find you had turned down the van for us--back seats flattened so we could stretch out in the trunk while you made due on a reclined front seat. We were homeward bound the following afternoon.

Of that weekend I recall so few specifics and one predominant generalization: we had a great time.

Even the bad parts were hilarious and ironic and we knew it would all, someday, make a great story. I remember liking you and thinking I would have wanted to be there with you regardless of David and Michael.

In between the extended moments of idiocy we had real conversations as the sun was setting and the night preparing to begin.

These days (and years) our great, stupid adventures have gotten fewer and farther apart but I still like you, and I’d still want to be with you regardless of David and Michael.

How lucky I got when I picked up a new family that you were already there, and I got to have you, too. May the next decades (because that’s how you measure time now that you’re 50) be filled with a few bad ideas well executed and many more good discussions in a camper or other suitable stand-in.

All my love on your fiftieth birthday, and every day.

- LIZ THORPE, NEW ORLEANS

SAN FRANCISCO

“YOU KNOW YOU’RE ROLLING WHEN YOU PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND IT FEELS TOTALLY COMFORTABLE.” - MARLENE FRIIS

MUCH LOVE

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OMEWHERE – Sound of mind and Succinct of thought, Marlene Friis dispenses sage advice to those who make themselves available to it. To receive Friis Wisdom one must be open to its genius and be fortunate enough to be in the appropriate spot at the opportune moment. For me, the “receiving moment” of this particularly erudite bit of Friis Wisdom is vivid. Brilliant even. The loud voice in my ear, the accent, the darkness and the bright lights, the concussive base. Perhaps she even followed the advice with a patented “Oh M’Gahd.”

But outside the immediate specifics of this moment, the context is lost to history. The past twenty-four years have presented myriad opportunities for such a profound teaching moment. Where did it occur? It could have been in my college apartment when you came for a visit and I had a very awkward house-party. But the party wasn’t that kinda party and we listened to Moby on repeat. Welcome to the new Millennium! While still in college, you welcomed me to SF to welcome the new millennium. Between the Y2K

fears, the broadening of my mind and the excellent company, this trip is a strong candidate. But the specifics are awfully fuzzy, so I will disqualify it circumstantially. Perhaps it was at the 2001 Roni Size concert. The show was in that really echoey and empty venue on Brannan street. The sound quality was bad, the beats were epic. Ooh, or maybe it was in Miami, where we felt really really good. and then really really bad. We also ate a lot of sushi boats.

I kinda wish it was the South of France, circa 1995, but I don’t think we rolled that way back then. As an aside, I am amazed that a week in France with my parents and I didn’t scare you away. On second thought, maybe that’s why I didn’t see much of you. I think the winner is the 2001 Roni Size show (I also think that was the night we tried to watch the sunrise on the west coast, but that’s a different story). But this may all be a postrationalization.

I’m not sure it matters, as the journey has been epic and the advice rings true. Put your Hands in the air.

- DAV I D H E C H T N E W O R L E A N S

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B A R C E LO N A

The Little Known Week in Marlene Friis’ Life

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e live in a world where most of our actions are pinged or recorded (is your location service on?) or aired on social media intentionally or otherwise. We no longer have nuggets of information or secrets that are kept in the crevices of our lives. While this is perfect for worried parents intent not to miss a minute of their kids’ lives, or a love-sick poor soul on a near stalking spree (one at risk of melting like cheese), I miss the days where hidden or forgotten moments spilled out at unsuspecting moments!

There is a week in Marlene Friis’ life that is only known to one person, and one person only. That person is Reiko Tsushima.

It was the summer of 1989, two decades after the year immortalized in Brian Adam’s easy breezy summer tune (that still plays in sleazy bars in Bangkok’s red light districttelltale sign of the ages of the clientele).

The soundtrack of summer was Roxette “you got the look”. Life was bright; university admissions confirmed and it was the last summer to bask in the familiar freedom before we’d have to leave our international bubble of a life to launch into the real world.

And, summers were about inter-railing across Europe!

Wien Wesbahnhof behind us. Skip a few weeks, cities and several camp sites where our tents were a disgrace (who forgot the poles?), Marlene found herself on a beach one morning with Reiko (and a few others…) in Bahia de Rosas, Spain. Not just that, but missing a backpack that contained all their valuables; wallets, inter-rail tickets and critically – passports. No, there were no mobile phone to be mentioned- this was 1989.

Life suddenly turned ashen… we gathered

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300 Pesos or 3 Euros equivalent from kind souls and embarked on an epic journey from Bahia de Rosas to Barcelona to knock on the Danish and Japanese Consulates so that they could contact our parents and issue us a temporary travel document back home to Vienna (Marlene) and Bucharest (Reiko… seriously, Bucharest?).

It started with a hitchhike, after a couple of minutes standing on the roadside with thumbs up, kind passer bys gestured for us to smile, that way we upped the chances of cars stopping! The advice worked and we successfully boarded a pickup truck, which dropped us at the outskirts of Barcelona.

Again this was not the google map days.

It was real paper map days but we could not afford to buy one as we needed our 3 Euros equivalent for food and water.

We asked passer-bys for direction to the Consulates and we cursed our inability to comprehend Spanish, AND selfishly, people’s lack of English skills!

It was a forever walk- we were hungry, thirsty, tired and totally uncertain whether the direction we were taking was indeed the one to take. The only thing that gave me relief was that I was with my bestie Marlene, who was resourceful, funny, energetic and my rock. But this said, we were getting on each other’s nerves. Our conversations were like; “hey wait” ; “what?

“I said wait”; “I can’t hear you” “what?”; “what?’ “what?”; “if you say ‘what’ one more time I am going to screaaam!!!!! ARRRRRGGGGG” This communication modality continued indefinitely while we plodded on. I swear we passed some historic monuments like the one pictured (La Sagrada Familia-Gaudi designed landmark church). I would like to say that my cultural antennae made

me stop to take in the majestic sight, but we disregarded and walked on. Much like the time I was delirious during a work trip in Iran, suffering from a lactation mastitis induced fever and I did not flinch when a cockroach fell off a tree and onto my headscarf. Ladies, don’t travel without your baby while you are still breastfeeding and headscarves can save you. I don’t know why Iranian roaches climb trees.

I can no longer recall how, but we found the Danish Consulate fist, and it was the best feeling of rescue and relief, until I realized that I still had to look for the Japanese Consulate.

It was a great feeling seeing my bestie enter the doors of the Danish Consulate knowing that she’d rescue me if I got lost on the way to the Japanese one. The kind Danish officials may have even put me in a taxi, I can’t recall now…

That was the end of summer of 1989 with one adventure that ended well thanks to my resourceful and funny bestie.

Today, whenever I feel that my kids are getting unruly and unhinged, I think of the young us, and think “yeah, they’re ok”.

I cherish our friendship, our bond that has lasted so long (two decades since… ) and look forward to sharing even more crazy adventures with you but this time with money in our pockets.

Happy birthday and may you always keep little secrets in the crevice of your life...

- R E I KO T S U S H I M A , T H A I L A N D

About the author: Reiko Tsushima, born 1971 to Japanese parents who insisted on living in Eastern Europe, particularly Romania. She is a bestie who entered Marlene’s life in 1986 (VIS, T1) and never left. She is known for her insightful notes passed during class, some may even say they were inspirational. Her biggest worry during high school was that her higher education may fall to waste upon getting married, but is glad to say today that she has successfully managed married life with a career, and certain to make the (former) career advisor proud.

B A R C E LO N A , LU S S AU LT, A N D C O P E N H A G E N

The Usual Sandgasse Suspects

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arlene leaned back against her seat as the train clanked out of Barcelona Station, heading ultimately towards Vienna, and a return to the aptly named “Sandgasse” bunker. She allowed herself a little smile. Her recent audacious escape from the international law enforcement agencies was only the last in a long line of teenage mayhem inflicted on unsuspecting communities throughout Europe during the late 80s. She was confident that she would reconnect with the other members of her gang: the Notorious Norris Sisters, and Mad-Eyes Page.

One of Marlene’s strengths was her deceptively unassuming appearance.

With her slight build and elfin features; her charming freckles and apparently guileless green eyes; and frankly the sort of hair no self-respecting villain would admit to, Marlene had outfoxed her ham-fisted pursuers for several years. She was 17 years old.

She had made her debut in France, leading the gang of delinquents on a rampage through a sleepy town by the name of Amboise, nestled

somewhere or other in the Loire Valley.

Having set up a base in the nearby hamlet of Lussault, the gang carefully planned their attack.

At first they seemed to be like any other group of youthful holiday makers, harmless and wide-eyed. But their local connections allowed them to embed themselves with local bon vivants, and before long the beer was flowing in a frankly unseemly way. If only the local bar owners, not to say the Gendarmerie, had understood their creed (well-documented in the seminal and seditious motion picture ‘The Breakfast Club’: “If he gets up – we’ll all get up; it’ll be ANARCHY!”) – then what followed might have been avoided.

As it turned out, the blameless citizens of Amboise were subjected to a four-girl riot. Linking arms in a mockery of harmless camaraderie, the young thugs roamed the streets shouting “Quatre Bieres!” repeatedly. Shutters came down.

They were not served.

When they realised that Interpol had picked up their trail, one of the gang ran interference by urinating in the street. Others hailed (some say hijacked) a local taxi. No local drivers have come forward to admit that their car was involved. The gang piled in and the car sped off towards their hideout in Lussault. Friis, unconstrained by delicacy or dignity, vomited copiously out of the getaway vehicle; the effluence hit the pursuing Police cars, there followed a pile-up worthy of the Blues Brothers, and the gang got an early taste of invincibility and freedom.

How could anyone suspect that the marauders would next hit Copenhagen?

Peaceful, civilised, and quite frankly far too expensive for a similar riot demanding the right to be sold beer, it seemed so unlikely. But Marlene Friis was nothing if not resourceful. She had early on identified the Carlsberg Brewery as a suitable target. The gang signed up for a tour of the Brewery, as many tourists do; promised one free beer at the end of the tour. But Friis struck just as the

guides thought it was safe: bursting into a well-known Danish football song in which the opposition is promised they will be crushed and taken home in a “Trillebore” (wheelbarrow), the patriotic guides were blissfully unaware of the rest of the gang systematically fleecing the Brewery of all the beer that wasn’t, as it were, nailed down.

By the time the extent of the carnage had been discovered, the gang were already miles away. Friis had activated a safe house under the control of a kindly-seeming elderly gentleman known to some as “Farfar”. She calculated, quite rightly, that no one would suspect that the gang would hide out in a place called Middelfart. After all, it was so remote that no one could hear you, well, fart. They were gone. Interpol had to concede defeat yet again.

As Marlene leant back in her seat on the shabby and impersonal train (so unlike the wonderfully comfortable air travel she would become used to in later life), she smiled as she recalled her latest triumph. The gang had managed to lie low in Spain for a while. Her trusted lieutenants had been sent on to the Sandgasse bunker; and this last coup was to be entirely her own. Targeting a local supermarket, she had come up with the ingenious idea of hitting their water supplies. Before anyone realised what was happening, water was spouting from every container, pipe and faucet. Anarchy! While the staff ran in circles and customers fainted in coils, Marlene walked away, for all the world like just a young girl with a slightly damaged bottle of water no one had had the heart to charge her for. No one at Barcelona Station paid her any mind as she boarded the train.

Where is she now? No one really knows. However, some say she was recently seen at the Royal Academy of Arts in London, casing the joint together with one of her old gang members.

Could a major art heist be on the cards?

There is a rumour of an inside man. . .

- P H I L I P PA (“ P I P ”) PA G E , LO N D O N

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W H I T S TA B L E

THE WARM FRIDGE 1993. I had just left Vienna. A city clogged with so much culture it could pop anybody’s vein.

Gracious Mozart parks, majestic buildings housing the Spanish riding school, gold clad monuments that thundered as relics from the Empires of the past. The home of the Wiener Schnitzel. And always a hint of east-meets-west with a tad bit of communist grandeur. I had packed my parent’s largest suitcase and was headed for university.

Brown leathered and heavy as hell I headed to Canterbury to battle it out with the English tea drinking nation for my 3-year bachelors. I had barely settled in my student apartment. Small, quaint, and with a jolly large portion of “cheers” and other exaggerated superlatives. When, in those days – messages were still slipped under the door. It was an invitation to visit Marlene Friis in her respectable residence in Whitstable. The lady would cook up mussels for the occasion. I took the bus from the campus and arrived 25 minutes later at a sandy village. The main installation was the Indian restaurant on the high street,

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that counted 20 houses bunched together. The shock had nearly killed my parents when we a few weeks earlier had visited the restaurant and ordered “medium.” Just as we had figured out why there were napkins on the table the food was served. It became imminently clear how essential the napkins and the mango-lasse were to fight off the rain of sweat that appeared as flash floods with every new bite of the chicken masala. Otherwise the houses were colourful, with a sense of a mickey mouse appeal to them all. Without google maps, and with an exceptional amount of luck, I found the named residence and banged on the door from the top of the stairs.

Voila, Marlene opened with her Mick Jagger smile. Autumn had settled in. The Kitchen and living room made up most of the space. Both of us were students, where the last pennies Marlene had scrapped together had gone for some wine to add taste to the mussels. She’d cut down on the heating budget to make ends meet. The steam from the pot moistened the whole apartment. As

the evening shadowed in, the coal fireplace was battling against the cold autumn night that was launching an all-out invasion in this -pre-worldwar-only-rentable-to-students -apartment. At one point we opened up the fridge for added warmth. We only had the light from the glow of the coal and a lonely candle by the kitchen stove (for added heat). The chatter that evening set the tone for the next three years. Reminiscing back to when Marlene had lost out, and with great disappointed, got disqualified from the 1991 World Pillow Fight Championship that was held at her parent’s place in the Vienna wine district.

This was highly unfortunate, as we never got passed the qualifying rounds with me as the only contestant left. On my way home that evening, the stars twinkled over the windy roads back to Canterbury. It was the start of my student life and the beginning of Marlene’s continued adventures.

God Bless Great Britain. Whitstable will remain but only as a sandy memory.

– CHRISTIAN HERHEIM, BERGEN

M I D D E L FA R T

Passing through Middelfart Gateway to Marlene (and, Copenhagen)

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t has not occurred to many Americans to visit the town of Middelfart, in Denmark.

Surely it would not have occurred to me in 2011, had I not gotten to know Marlene Friis in the three years prior. It should be noted that Marlene turns a mere 50 years old in October 2020, while good ol’ Middelfart is approaching the 800th anniversary of its founding.

Does age make this Danish coastal town any more distinguished than Ms. Marlene herself? No, indeed; while Middelfart is entrenched in custom and tradition, Marlene is the epitome of surprise, improvisation, whimsy -- and fresh air. Not so, Middelfart.

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Although I’ve spent many social occasions with Marlene, spanning the Gulf Coast from New Orleans to Grayton Beach, we have never crossed paths in Middelfart! She has returned to her homeland for many summer visits, and I’ve been there only once in my life. And, admittedly, just a quick stop at the local Netto grocery -- between two Legoland-filled days in Billund and waffle-tasting in Copenhagen.

But it was only after my short time in Denmark that I came to truly appreciate Marlene’s charming individuality and worldly perspective. Upon my return to the US, I grabbed her by the shoulders: “You must think we are

complete Neanderthals! Denmark is so much more progressive!” I saw the wonder of dual-flush toilets… and the miles of wind farms! The abundant use of sans-serif typeface, WAY before we caught on! The “adult taste” (Marlene’s words) of “Salmiaklakrids” (salt licorice) -- even in ice cream. And the idle young people, lollying about the grassy spaces of Copenhagen with only a few cases of Carlsberg tall-boys to share among them. Surely, they must be the economic engine of Northern Europe. Why even bother with US citizenship? There is nothing “rotten in the state of Denmark” anymore -- least of all, Middelfart.

I display with pride the color postcard I receive from Marlene each summer, “Middelfart” scripted in red across the center. If it’s a joke, it never gets old… Actually, it has for my teenage sons, oddly, but not for me. As counterpoint to America’s bloated excess, Middelfart should top anyone’s Scandinavian travel itinerary.

What’s more, it’s the psychic passage to understanding the remarkable and super-spectacular Ms. Friis.

Happy Birthday, Marlene -- Fifty’s got nothing on you!

Cheers and love from Margaret - M A R G A R E T H OW Z E , NEW ORLEANS & MARTHA’S VINEYARD

ROME

ROME-ING AROUND THE ITALIAN CAPITAL WITH A DEAR OLD FRIEND

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arlene Friis was my first BFF at the Vienna International School. We were both newcomers in Primary 6 in Mrs. Wolfgang’s class and became friends immediately. She was smart, précoce and outgoing; I on the other hand, was shy and naïve. We shared many fun adventures, such as, skipping school and hanging out at my home (as my parents were at work all day), watching films and living the carefree joie de vivre of adolescence to pass the time; sleeping over at her home to be able to head off to do some fun activity into the wee hours of the night; ISST hockey; ISST basketball; Model UN, World Youth Assembly...Oh the many geopolitical debates at McDonalds on Schwedenplatz!!!

There’s no place like Rome. It was 2015. I had not seen Marlene since my wedding in Vienna in 2005. So it was a delightful surprise when she called to tell me she would be visiting Rome that summer. So on 20 July, we met up and spent the day together. I brought along my 18-yr old brother, Luis, who was visiting me from L.A., before he started University in the autumn. We went first to the Colosseum, the largest amphitheater in the Roman empire, home to historical gladiator combat and wild beast shows.

Although it is merely a shadow of its former self, it still remains a noble ruin. Can you imagine the many layers of history and stories of people who laughed, cried and died there?

We then walked towards the Vatican City to St. Peter’s Basilica, stopping briefly at the Pantheon. At the Cathedral, we climbed the many spiral steps to the top…it was worth the effort, as the view of Rome from the top was breathtaking! St. Peter’s Square was also impressive. Thank you Bernini!!!

Spanish Steps, here we come! I remember it was scorching hot and there were several tourists wading in the Fontana della Barcaccia ("Fountain of the longboat") to cool down! We then went for a gastro-enologic experience in Eataly.

We concluded the evening with some University friends of mine, Giovanni and Rossella, who brought us to an artisan beer bar. They then brought us to the Embassy of the Sovereign Military Order of Malta to the Holy See, where you can peek through a keyhole and see St. Peter’s Basilica! What a memorable day with a dear old BFF. It does seem that all roads end up leading to Rome at some point in one’s life!

- ANA LISA VETERE, MILAN

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F R A N K L I N TO N

Friis’s 4Runner Run to Franklinton Fun A Quick Covid Respite

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hat a year it has been.

Late 2019 had hopes and plans chock full of travel and adventure. But alas, the universe had other plans. And after months of being cooped up inside quarantining, in true Friis form, Ms. Marlene got to planning an outing. This was no small feat given the task of avoiding contact with others, social distancing and mask wearing. So this quick trip to Franklinton for 24 hours of fresh air, nature and laughing while floating down the Bogue Chitto checked all the boxes. Having all been safely following the quarantine guidelines and free from illness, we got the boys, loaded up the 4Runner and hit the road for much needed escape. We arrived in the evening after a scenic fride through rural Louisiana to a serendipitous upgrade to the largest cabin available. We settled in and headed for a quick dip in the river before dinner. And typical of an outing with Marlene, the resulting hours were nature, adventure, laughter, and yes education filled. We sat and watched the boys throw the football in the river while we chatted and sifted

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through beautiful river rocks on the bank with our feet in the sand . As dusk approached, we packed up to go back to the cabin to cook dinner.

On the walk to the car I picked up a stalker. Out of nowhere a huge horsefly started to buzz around my head and persistently pursued me.

For a second, I was flattered, it has been a long while, but I digress. This horsefly meant business. I started waving my arms and running to the truck. I am yelling “unlock the truck, unlock the truck”, leaving a trail of laughter behind me. I know I looked foolish. G and Kai could hardly walk for the crippling laughter at my expense. As the others loaded into the truck in tears, we headed back to the cabin. To everyone’s surprise, so did the horsefly. So this thing was HUGE, and as we drove, it would hit the windshield and all the windows, seemingly trying to get at us in the truck. It followed the truck back to the cabin. I sent my child ahead to unlock the door, since it was really me the fly was after. He ran screaming and unlocked it. We sprinted one by one into the cabin, waving and screaming. We were both hysterically laughing and traumatized. Where is the wine… I spent the duration of the

evening learning all about horseflies, that they are attracted to motion (in other words do not wave your arms around) and dark colors (I live in black) and the complete horrifying manner which the fly planned on feasting on me as I drank a glass of wine on a lovely large screened in porch, surrounded by trees, all while the boys cooked us dinner. The next morning, I was pleasantly surprised to spy a woodpecker pecking away outside my window. I was fascinated as this was a first for me. We had breakfast, suited and packed up and headed to the river for our lazy cruise down the Bogue Chitto. A quick stop at the closest “five and dime” and we were ready. The float was amazing, peaceful and uneventful, just how I like it. There were no crowds, just us and nature. Just what the doctor

ordered. On the way back to reality, Marlene stopped to take this picture.

I never did ask her why. I guess I just understood. There was something beautiful about this road, this dirt road that seemed to go one forever, void of viruses, politics, social injustice, and all of the hecticness that it ironically was leading us back to.

We would be there soon enough, so I guess it didn’t matter to me why she stopped, I just appreciated a few more moments there. And when I look at this picture, I realize there are many many roads that we travel in this life, and I am forever grateful for the road that lead me to Ms. Marlene Fris. I pray it is one that is never ending leading to a lifetime filled with adventures to come.

– B R I D G E T B A R T H E L E M Y, NEW ORLEANS

ROME

It Was Hot and Steamy in Rome

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t was hot and steamy in Rome, the red wine twinkling in glasses on shaded café tables and the smell of dark coffee, expensive cologne and the exhaust fumes of scooters heavy in the air. The Pope had opened The Vatican for exclusive prosecco evenings on four Friday evening that summer, and of course Marlene Friis-Hecht was number one on his VIP Gregorian Guest List…

Having soaked up the very welcome brilliant scorching sunshine, and after a five star guided tour of Rome by renowned Italian City expert Friis Hecht, who trained at the exclusive BAGBAWAFAD* Academy of Tourism cum laude, I wandered with Friis-Hecht and our charming co-host for the evening Signor DJ El Camino through the cobbled, colourful evening streets of Rome, arriving at the Pope’s residence at sunset. We were welcomed with papal proficiency by a handsome Italian Vatican-Guard from Switzerland, locally referred to as the “Guardia Svizzera Pontificia/ Pontificia Cohors Helvetica”. Recruits to the guards must be unmarried Swiss Catholic males between 19 and 30 years of age who have completed basic training with the Swiss Armed Forces, and are trained locally by the iconic Italian Military Leader General Von T Steak.

A brief stroll through the fragrant bay trees and ornamental vases, simmering in the evening heat as if they had been blessed by the holy father himself, led us to the “buffet table and bar”, known locally to the Italians as the “tavolo da buffet e bar” where we were issued with our consecrated “meal and drink token”: “gettone per cibo e bevande” as as these self same local might say. Our charming co-host Signore DJ El Camino negotiated additional glasses of consecrated Prosecco by befriending the overworked waiters on duty, who, as Italians, were quietly and calmly

rather irritated at having to work a 14 hour day just because the Pope wanted a Prosecco party - a “Festa del Prosecco” as we can imagine the 14th Century Vaticananians might have called it.

But imagine our awe and wonder as, after the consecrated Prosecco, we were escorted into the Magnificent Sistine Chapel, brooding and imposing in the late evening gloom. Yet, to this visitor, also somehow simultaneously iridescent and humble - irridecente e umile. “Probably the most famous chapel in the world because of its incredible artwork” (Tripadvisor 2020), The Sistine Chapel (/ /; Latin: Sacellum Sixtinum; Italian: Cappella Sistina is a chapel in the Apostolic Palace, the official residence of the pope, in Vatican City. Originally known as the Cappella Magna (‘Great Chapel’), the chapel takes its name from Pope Sixtus IV, who restored it between 1473 and 1481. Today, it is the site of the papal conclave, the process by which a new pope is selected. Between 1508 and 1512, under the patronage of Pope Julius II, Michelangelo painted the chapel’s ceiling, a project which changed the course of Western art and is regarded as one of the major artistic accomplishments of human civilization.

Somehow it seemed to speak to all of us in our small and inebriated party.

As I wander several years later through the grey and chilly London streets, when not in Lockdown due to Covid19, I remember the wonderful trip to Rome in all its beauty and heat, and the magical and unique presence of the irreplaceable Marlene, a dear and much cherished friend.

R Hayes Laughton, International Traveller 24/09/2020 *bought a guide book and wandered around for a day – R E B E C C A H AY E S L AU G H TO N , LO N D O N

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FYN

En anderledes oplevelse Det var en fornøjelse, at kunne byde Marlene på en noget anderledes oplevelse, end hvad hun havde forestillet sig hun skulle se. Jeg var i den situation, at jeg havde en syg hest. Den var indlagt på et hestehospital, og jeg skulle ud og besøge den. Det var oplagt, at Marlene skulle med. Jeg glædede mig til at vise hende, hvad et hestehospital var.

Fitness er ikke kun for mennesker På rundvisningen kom vi forbi stalden hvor hestene bliver indlagt.

Samt intensivafdelingen for de heste der er skal overvåges. Vi kom også forbi MRI-scanning og scintigrafi.

Slutteligt var det en fornøjelse, at vise Marlene, at fitness ikke kun er for mennesker, men også meget populært i hesteverdenen. Her findes løbebånd med og uden vand, samt solarie og massagetæpper.

Mon hesten overlevede Efter vores besøg på hestehospitalet, gik der en uges tid, så var hesten heldigvis frisk igen. Selvom den havde været lige ved at dø, var vi heldige og den blev rask, og lever i bedste velgående i dag.

Besøg på Hestehospital

Så fik du set det også….

Kære Marlene.

Det er altid en fornøjelse at være sammen med dig J En af de gode oplevelser vi to har haft sammen, var da jeg kunne give dig en rundvisning på et hestehospital. Jeg havde en meget syg hest indlagt, og skulle ud og besøge den. Jeg havde spurgt om du ville med, og det ville du heldigvis.

Det var dejligt, at se dig gå med rundt og spørge nysgerrigt ind til de forskellige afdelinger som hestehospitalet havde. Sjovest var det, da du var med i hestefitness-afdelingen - T I N A LU N D, M I D D E L FA R T

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GRINZING

GRINZING IN THE 80S AND A FRIENDSHIP THAT ROCKS!

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y first ever sleep over was at Marlene’s house. Fresh off the boat from Beirut, she invited me to her new flat situated right behind the last stop on the 38 tramway in Grinzing, a village on the outskirts of Vienna at the foot of a small mountain called Kahlenberg. Shortly thereafter, her family moved down the road and we became neighbours. I mean literally, the building next door separated only by a fence which happened to have a hole in it (particularly handy when we were in a rush.) As neighbours we went to school together. This meant seeing each other most mornings on opposite sides of the street legging it down the road to catch the school bus. We usually managed. One day, Marlene’s hair had turned platinum blond, an exquisite look she still sports today. A few weeks later, she took a pair of scissors to cut her bangs explaining they kept getting in the way of doing homework. Both hairdos looked brilliant. At one point, Marlene and I decided to get fit. Inspired

by Rocky Balboa, we kicked off our day at dawn, downed a raw egg in milk, and hit the pavement for a jog while listening to the “eye of the tiger” on a yellow Walkman. It lasted a week… but we were very pleased with ourselves. Trips to the local ice-cream parlour were a regular outing. In case others don’t know, Marlene is very talented at ingesting exceptionally large quantities of ice cream at lightning speed. One day the ice cream

parlour was having a raffle. All paper entries were placed in a clear jar. Marlene had the wise idea of sticking scotch tape around hers, cunningly calculating it would feel different to the exploring hand. It worked! Her entry was picked and she won! The prize - an “all you can eat ice-cream” fiesta for all her friends. We were quite literally on cloud nine. Grinzing will always be memories of my most precious friendship with my dearest Friis. We used to roam around the neighbourhood visiting friends from Reiko to Tina to Shu. Pip

was also pretty much a resident, even though she officially lived on the other side of town. We wandered up and down Cobenzl, hung out in the local park, at each other’s houses and when desperate for warmth or privacy, in my dad’s car which he always left unlocked. Somewhere along the way, I became Big Toe and she was Freeze Frame. Beautiful, kind, loving, funny, creative and the most giving friend in the world. I know how incredibly lucky I am.

– S A R A N O R R I S, LO N D O N

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REIGNING FRIISES SEE MORE AT THE FRIISTIKISTAN NATIONAL GALLERY