March

was the month
of checking out many new and almost-new restaurants helmed by michelin-starred and celebrity chefs. I have to decline any more such invites; these places are overrated in every way, the most insulting being that the title of "chef" is meaningless.

Most were forgettable, others were downright regrettable (more on the bad stuff at another time).

Still, I miss my food posts and the (mediocre) pictures that go with them. For now, I want to share this photostream from flickr. I am really impressed with the guy's collages of foods and drinks, especially his collection of teh-tarik and acrobatics tea shots:)

I am glad the partying season finally came to a close. I want to/need to get on with my own wants and needs in my own way, in my own time for the remaining months...

Weave the Ruby Mandala

I started bellydance lessons with Keti Sharif. I have moved on to other good and great teachers to whom I am grateful for their patience and generosity in imparting their skills and expertise.

I attended Keti's Ruby Mandala workshop - a
beautiful 2-hr session of smooth downtempo veil work of flowing pattern formation.

And as before, I find myself amazed at how this dancer-teacher manages to teach, inspire and challenge students at any level. I feel included, involved, and ultimately, I feel I am really dancing.

That is the strength of Keti Sharif the bellydance teacher. She manages the tricky balance of teaching while tapping into the student's level of individual ability so that at the end of the workshop, the student comes away with ownership of the dance.

I know I still love bellydance, I still dance today, I still think bellydance is relevant in the word of dance, because of having her as my first teacher.

The Journey - a poem for you

It will always pain me to see my women friends continue to work at being everything to everybody.

These words are dedicated to you:

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

from The Journey

That PR dress

I just fell in love with this dress at Paul Ropp's.

I got one (two?) for myself, and one for a very special girl friend.

And if the dress doesn't drape her long lean body perfectly in the most beautiful way, she will just have to change whatever is necessary with her body. LOL

The sale I wait for

I have a love-hate relationship with Bali.

I hate having to quarrel with the hotel receptionist for trying to give me a room that is less than what I booked and paid for. I hate the the bumpy taxi rides through narrow lanes that are more pot-holed than paved surface. I detest alfresco fine dining in the sultry evenings. I have no patience with the street vendors hawking cheap tourist trinkets at outrageously inflated prices.

Then there is Paul Ropp. I love-love-love his Indian inspired bohemian creations. The Paul Ropp shops in Bali each carry a small selection of clothes and accessories. I love rummaging through a much bigger selection at his warehouse sale.

And yes, I love to see once again the big smiles on the faces of the crew who work here.

Bali according to Paul Ropp

Note the factory/warehouse from 10;30

That's where I'll be next week! Yes!

Paul Ropp Factory Sale March 2011

Yes!

I am looking into flight and hotel bookings.

Then I there already.

Yes!

February

was the month
visitors of every stripe blew into town - almost-friends, real dear friends, sort-of families.

The most interesting are the relatives from Shantou. Until now, they are only people I have heard about. I am glad to finally meet them for a family dinner, pose for the obligatory family group picture, and sort of sad to know that in all probability, I will not see them again. I just cannot think of circumstances that will lead us to look up each other after this.

There is unrest again between the brother and parents. It distresses me to hear from the sister how much hatred there is between them. I am resigned to the fact that, like all previous rows, the brother will still do nothing to make things right for himself and his family. It reaffirms in my mind that the only thing to do is leave these people to fight each other their entire lives.

It is time I start to look to travel :)

The school friends

Many batches of visitors came through Singapore these past weeks. Some were friends from long ago, some were friends I got to know in recent years. Some are not even friends in any meaningful sense of the word; others are people I knew from long ago and wish I never met.

Then there is this very special small group of women from the earliest school days. There is a lot of shared history among us. We have seen each other through heartbreak days, harrowing experiences, and celebrated the little victories in between. These days, we only meet up when we have an old friend visiting. Those occasions are few and far in between, and I treasure every moment of the little time we have with one another before going about our lives again.

I often think I might like for the ones living here to get together more frequently. But we never tried. Because I think it is precisely because these opportunities are rare that they become all the more special.

And so, until I see them again, I will remember the open laughter and conversation we shared this one afternoon.

The big dinner

We do three big dinners in the year for the friends and family: the Chinese New Year round up, Christmas and New Year's Eve.

After many trials and errors with choice of food and mix of dinner friends, we more or less have our act together.

The huge spread of food got to the table with minimal hiccup, and the humans got along nicely.

There was even a little surprise birthday celebration thrown in the mix!

It was a lot of work, but we got a lot of help from the friends throughout the evening with putting away dishes, refilling drinks and making merry.

And so it came to pass; we had a grand time celebrating the first of three big festivals of the year.

The friends, the family, the food, the drinks. Everything was right.

CNY - Hanging in there

Day by day, life returns to normal, as we reluctantly or gaily let go of the forced frenzied grip that is the Chinese New Year holidays.

The dance aunties return to their dance classes with tales of woe that beset them the week before.

Seeing the detestable relatives whom they avoid the rest of the year. Stories of frightful elders who are unhappy with the size of their ang pows. All the busy work that went into sending the gods back to the heavens to report on the good conduct of the household. All the anxiety to welcome the gods back in style and splendour. Frustration at raised prices of everything before the New Year that are not coming back down after. Tempers flared at long queues for bak kwa at inflated prices. Only for their effort to be dismissed by ungrateful recipients who say that bak kwa from another long queue is better.

Hang in there just a bit longer, ladies. It will all be over on the night of the 15th (that will be the Thursday of the 17th of February for the confused angmoh chek philistines). I expect a collective sigh of relief from the long-suffering.

Until the next go around on 23 January 2012.

To everything there is a season

I returned to playing mahjong after 12 long years. In the company of gracious and elegant players, the game is all about good humour and conviviality. Otherwise, it is a waste of time.

I have been asked again and again to teach the game. I almost always decline. For me, it is not a simple matter of teaching the rules of play. There are many players who can impart this information. Heck, they can even learn it online! For me, it is about one's philosophy and therefore it is about one's attitude.

I will have nothing to do with players (and learners) who view mahjong as a gambling game, whose only objective is die-die-must-win.
Good play is a lot more subtle than that. The beauty of the game is that to everything there is a season.

Try teaching that to the philistines.

January

was the month
of seemingly endless catching up with all sorts of friends and family.

The very dear girl (women?) friends finally nailed a date and place for coffee. Only for us to find the place closed that week for renovations when we got there. Bah! We ended up at a hotel coffee house for our sad coffees, but the step down in coffee choice was more than compensated by the chance to meet for a few hours of exciting updates.

Another special woman friend remembered my wishful thinking of using gold bricks for door stoppers. She went and got one for me! She lugged it into town to put it into my grabby hands! She had knee surgery recently and was still doing rehab physio. Wow! I feel the love, friend :)

Various people told me of various people coming into town; various people suggested get-togethers for the visitors at various places and various times. I agreed we should get together, then made no plans. I have learned to not act on rumours. I figured someone else who heard the rumour closer to source would be moved to organise some sort of meet-up and let me know. And I shall graciously show up.

I met the parents for lunch and did the ang pow exchange thing.

I am so ready for the New Year now.

The days of the Chinese New Year

I am having a hard time sorting out the Lunar New Year days and dates. It has everything to do with the first day of the LNY falling on Thursday 3rd February. I cannot explain why new year being early and starting in the middle of the week confuses the heck out of me.

To add to the confusion, my English educated friends choose this time of the year to show off their non-existent Chinese-ness. There is something very jarring about the way they switch between referring to the Chinese Lunar calendar and the Gregorian one. They mention sam sap man, nin chor yat, nin chor ee, etc, then in the next breath they say that means the 2nd hor, 3rd hor, the 4th hor.

The numbers 30, then 1 through 15 are involved in the LNY. But do the people who are half baked in Chinese and English know what days they are referring to?

Maybe they do. Which means maybe I don't.

So, on some day during the eve of and during the 15 days of the Lunar New Year, I am sure I will see you at the right place on the right day.

Gong Xi Fai Cai :)

Tito !!

For Tito fans among you:

The Chinese in me?

The rounds of meet-ups and catch-ups aren't done. The baking duties aren't done. And I am not complaining. I am actually enjoying all these activities, and of course, seeing the friends.

I am careful about not over-doing the merry-making during the ang moh year-end holiday season. I never embraced the oft-touted giving spirit of the season or the notion of starting a brand new year with renewed hopes and goals at the end of the month-long binge drinking.

For the Chinese one, I am happy to go the extra mile. I don't complain about the tong tong chang music that fills the air. I smile at the garish red and gold decorative what-nots. I am intrigued by the fuss and fluster that go into making sure the multitude of deities-in-residence are happy in every household.

I have roles to play out for the Chinese New Year. The ones I don't like, I junk them altogether where I can. Where I cannot, I compromise to where the annoyance is minimal. The rest I gladly fulfill.

I think *gasp* the Chinese in me is showing. And I am happy about that.

He never knew me

It has been 10 years since I left the ex, left the US, left the life that holds some of my fondest memories of friends, occasions and places.

I have little communication with the ex. There is no point. He is a lovely man. It is just sad that I grew up, he and I grew apart, and eventually, I had to leave just so I could make sense of myself.

Every year, he sends me a Hallmark card of the "you are special to me" variety at Christmas time. Every year, I email him to thank him for the card. Every year, I dread this predictable short communication which always brings up hurt and pain which I suppress all year long.

This time, he asked a simple question in the card: Do you ever feel lonely?

With deep sadness for him, I wrote back: No, I don't ever feel lonely.

I did not elaborate because he could not possibly understand: I have never been lonely, I cannot understand the state of being lonely, I actually enjoy being by myself.

I am sad all over again for the way things turned out in the end for him and me; sad that he will never understand I left because he never knew me, never heard anything I said, never cared for the things that are important to me.

He will forever believe my leaving was an act of selfishness. And I will let him belabour that mistaken notion.

Because he never knew me, he never heard me, he never cared to know what is important to me.

Travel Morocco

I've always imagined I'd love to visit Morocco. Specifically, I imagine I'd love to visit Marrakesh. I just never worked out how to go about this trip.

I never figured out how to move around the city once I got there. The friends who've been all loved Marrakesh, speaking of beautiful riads, lovely cafes, good food in beautiful restaurants, great shopping at the souks. They purposefully ignore my questions about the chaos.

I want to be a participant, not merely a spectator. I don't know how I can do that in Morocco. I definitely dislike having a tour guide, usually a self-proclaimed expert, yammering in my face.

This may be the answer:
It all takes place in Fez, but I guess it's similar enough to Marrakesh, right? And the Fes Festival sounds interesting.

I am still thinking about it...

December

was the month
filled with festive cheer and celebration.

I coped well with the cooking and baking duties for the many dinner parties by refusing to over-extend myself. I was surprised, and then pleased and grateful, that I stayed pain-free through the busy month of cook-by-day and party-by-night.

I am happy to see the friends who took time from their block-leave for coffee. I am happy to have time with friends who came through here on their holiday tour of Asia. And I am happy that on the last day of the year, I was with friends and family to see another good year out, and wish for them that the new year will be good to them.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I am aware that I have not seen or heard from Mother this whole month. And then, as quickly as the thought came to the fore for the moment, it got pushed right back to oblivion.

For this shall remain the month of festive cheer and celebration.

for auld lang syne, my dear

I've always liked Auld Lang Syne, even if I usually hear it belted out with too much gusto by drunk and tone-deaf people in the wee minutes into the New Year.

This is the beautiful old folk song given the right treatment:)



... for auld lang syne, my friends...

All the tomorrows

I love our quiet evenings at home, just the two of us. Sharing a simple dinner in our kitchen, just the two of us.Prawn udon with a generous side of vongole on a rainy night.

And just talk to each other, about our life together, the shared history and the days to come.

About the lousy people we know, the good friends we have, the annoying relatives we inherit.

Knowing that after all we have been through in our lives, we can see ourselves through whatever all the tomrrows might bring.

The CB writes back

I made known to her that I took offense to her thoughtless remark about my picture; I still think I look particularly good in it which is no small feat these days.

True to form, she ignored my peeve. Also true to form, she sends me a Christmas greeting card on which she scribbled these inane words:

How are you? We will be in (home town) for Christmas and New Year. What are your travel plans for 2011? Please write. Love to (me) and (the man).

Say I hold a grudge. Say I am being petty. Say this is the season of goodwill to all mankind.

I don't care.

I tore up the card and dumped every piece and bit of it in the bin.

Dimsum conversation

After doing all the Christmas food, there is something comforting about sitting down to a lunch of dim sum with friends.

Feeling their excitement as they flesh out plans of their new project in a new place. It is a hare-brained idea, and an oft-traveled road to frustration and heartbreaks. But it is futile to point out the flaws.

And so, keeping my own council, I let them happily paint their perfect picture for me.

I want to remember happy optimistic moments with friends in these last days of the year.

Christmas cheer

This has been a really beautiful holiday season for me.

So many things went right for so many special people. I was there when it happened - the initial look of disbelief, the gasp of delight dispelling the disbelief, the beginning of tearing in the eyes, then the happiness and wonderment carried in the laughter and crying, the little gift in hand.

I want many more people to have this experience - the joy in the giving and the receiving of a small something that means so much.

It is what this season is all about.

Have a good one, everyone of you.

So this is Christmas

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young

John Lennon, 1968

Macam Boh Sistem (MBS)

Many people describe this integrated resort in many ways - glamorous, stunning, very h-u-g-e, very luxe, very class. A few mention the confusing long walks to get anywhere within the premises.

I have little to add to the noise. The crew and I were on a recce mission to find places to bring our visitors. This place got struck off the list. The place is too macam boh sistem for me.

I was immediately pissed off that there was no signage to say parking in Towers 1 & 2 are strictly valet park only. Self park is (snort) w-a-y across the other side of the street in Tower 3. I was in no mood to find Tower 3 and was told to leave key in car. Key in car was not moved till I-don't-know-when.

The view in Skypark is spectacular, to say the least.

The 150 metre 3 lane eternity pool is ridiculous. It just looks like a very long longkang.

Differently uniformed people jumping in front of me to stop me from entering sections blocked for private parties, grand openings, special events, whatever, is damned annoying, alright? There are many bars, clubs and restaurants at the Skypark, but not a single outdoor seated bar. We decided there is no need to bring the visitors here.
Getting out of the place is another mess. The taxi stand and valet counter are situated close to each other at the grand front entrance. There is a perpetual long queue at the taxi stand, and no designated spot to wait for private car return. I hated having to run after my car as the valet drove past me to the furthest end of the driveway.

I remembered I could not wait to get away from the place. I know I am not returning to the place of my own volition.

The Perfect Peach Garden

They are special friends. This is a special visit for them. The friends here want them to remember their first visit to Asia as truly special.

After a week of furious recce of highly reviewed restaurants helmed by Michelin-starred chefs with inflated egos, we settled for the only restaurant worthy of the label "fine dining experience".
A tastefully appointed private dining room at Peach Garden. On the 33rd floor of the bank building where we get a breathtaking view of city lights along the river.

An extremely capable banquet manager worked with us on a customised menu that highlighted the finest of Chinese cuisine. Each dish is given a light touch of exotic Asian garnish that tempted the palate to want to know more of our exotic flavours. Every course individually plated so beautifully that it is a feast for the eyes before it becomes food. Attentive servers who took care of our table efficiently with not so much as a whisper of intrusion on our total enjoyment of this magical place and occasion.

The carefully considered selection of fine wines is a perfect complement to the fine dining.
I dare say this will be an evening that we will remember fondly for a long, long time.

Real value, real gold

What should someone with spare money lying around do to ensure the money value isn't eroded by inflation over time?

Some suggest buying investment properties. But really, when the market plunges, real estate will not move.

Others suggest stocks and shares, foreign currencies and the like. These are more liquid and can be disposed of in small chunks, but share the same fate as real estate in a financial downturn - you dispose of these assets in small lots at a loss.

There is no such thing as investment diamonds and wines for the simple reason that there isn't an open market to trade in them.

I think the people who buy gold have it right. In times of plenty, the gold they own is jewelry. In times of lean, the gold jewelry is sold for its gold content, which unlike diamonds, have a fixed market price at any given time.

I don't wear much fine jewelry. And there is no point buying jewelry to hoard.

I think it is cool to buy gold bars and use them around the home. The smaller pieces make great paperweights; the chunkier ones are excellent door stops. Heh.

Let them eat foam

Call me old fashioned, but I like food that looks and tastes like it should. I don't appreciate marriage of respectable cuisines that produce an unrecognisable and indescribable hybrid.

The much talked-about signature dish of foie gras xiao long bao with truffle consomme hiding under a puff of celeraic foam is an insult to sensibilities. Foam belongs on coffee and beer.

The platter filled with unrelated nibble sized sweet somethings described as a "Symphony of Dessert" has several strings missing in the orchestra.

Fancy labels like "Asian cuisine with French influence" does not make the food more palatable.

Enough already with the overpriced lousy dinners and cheap drinks brought to your table by a nervous serving crew whose delivery made me think they flunked out of hospitality training.

It was time I took the eating crew back to basics.

Everyone had a delightful time tucking into a 10-course meal of real Chinese food prepared by real cooks who give a damn to what they are doing.
Let the culinary snobs eat foam recommended by the media whores.

These Cheena types

There was only a Cheena man in the "priority" line and five bank customers in the general line.

I got behind Cheena. After 15 minutes in the queue, it looked like he was nowhere near finished with his multi transactions and many questions. The teller tending to his long task list was starting to look and sound frazzled.

Then Cheena got on his mobile to speak to (I presume) Mrs Cheena. Then the teller had to explain everything again to voice on the phone.

Cheena turned to me to tell me, in Cheena-ese, that he would be a long while yet, and I should cut into the other line, which now had 10 people in it.

Oh, the nerve of the Cheena!

I said we don't do that in this country; he said he was well-intentioned to let me know he would take a long time; I said if he had any consideration he'd let me get in front of him for my easy 2 minute transaction; he turned away from me to carry on with his 100 Q&A with the teller.

I got behind the 10 people, waited my turn, and when I was done, he still wasn't near finished.

As I walked away from the line, I couldn't stop myself from telling him that I really resented his Cheena types who think nothing of bringing their uncivil practices along with them everywhere.

And we keep importing them by the planeload. Sigh.

(I am aware the bank should have stepped in to mollify the situation, but I was not in the mood to tackle the SOP of the bank.)

This NY's Eve Dinner

She is a very dear friend.

She and I have a long shared history through the years - first jobs, string of lousy boyfriends, early married life, living abroad, raising husband and children, coming back to Singapore.

Back then, she was a vivacious, fun, funny woman who was delightful to be around and to have around.

These days, she is a slave to husband, two teenage boys, siblings, their spouses and children.

She asked what I'd be doing New Year's Eve. I said I might be invited out, and asked about her plans. She said she's fishing for an invite from me. The sons have parties to go to; she and husband will be on chauffeur duty.

Sigh. She is looking for a place to park herself in between driving the sons all over town all night.

I told her I will be invited out.

She is a very dear friend, and many things I will gladly do for her. But I cannot let her trash my dinner party with my family and friends on New Year's Eve.

Her Love Affair

I love hearing about love affairs.

So I listened with rapt attentiveness and watched the warm glow cast across her face as she re-lived the high, the rush, the exquisite anticipation of their trysts.

Then, as can be expected of affairs, the lovers were caught out and the illicit relationship came to an abrupt and devastating end.

Her husband demanded a divorce. She was left with no financial support even for their two young children. Her lover returned to his wife hoping to repair their marriage

She managed to get her professional life back on track, and essentially raised the two children by herself. Along the way, she found love again.

And right when the new love proposed marriage, the old lover ended his marriage and came back looking to resume their once-ardent and desperate relationship.

She now has to choose between two very desirable men - the old flame who once filled the void of empty days and loveless nights and the new love who was there in the years when she struggled to put her life back together again.

I didn't know either men; I wouldn't know who I'd marry if I were her.

But choose she did, and I met the husband for the first time last week. I adore him, and I have never seen her happier.

Isn't this a cool love affair story????

Who did she marry? Make your guess before looking up the answer here.

November

was the month
- I reached my limit of tolerance with inconsiderate and abusive people I've known for a very long time.

- I was still hoping there could be some saving grace. I waited for an apology of sorts from them. None came.

- And so, with some reluctance but no regrets, I closed my heart and mind to them.

- I have moved away. I moved on.

Bad Pennies and Bad People

Like the proverbial bad penny, they keep showing up.

The old boy of the dread couple from KL sent us an invitation to his 70th birthday in a stuffy country club in Penang, attire "as formally as you like." I suspect many of us are reluctant invitees who still remember vividly how painful his birthday party was the year before. So, as ungracious as it is, many of us declined the invitation. We should feel properly awful that he threw a party and no one came. But we couldn't bear to be tortured again so soon, you understand.

Then I get an email from the screwball woman back in the US telling me how "although we are so very far away, you are very near in my thoughts." She will be "coming to Singapore in February next year for a vacation and hope to be able to see each one of you while I am there." Sigh. I can still hope that she loses all our phone numbers...

You know how the saying goes that bad things come in three's?

I don't think I can deal with her, or her, or them.

I am sure there is no truth whatsoever to the silly saying. It is silly!

Answer to Her Love Affair

She married the new love; she decided she could not hurt this man who has been so good to her and for her all these years.

I still don't know who I would have chosen. What about you?

I feel good

I feel good these past weeks. Literally, physically, mentally, I just feel the best I have felt in a very long time.

The aches and pains in my joints have been minimal; some days they are almost absent.

I can actually really dance again. Sadly I will never be able to do dances like Hawaiian hula that demand very deep knee bends and beautifully articulate hand movements. But hey, I can return to Middle Eastern dance which has always been my first love...

My hair has stopped falling out by the handful; in fact I managed to grow my hair long again. The natural curl in my hair is beautiful; so many people have been telling me they love the perm :)

I also just found that I can use eau de toilette! I used to get severe burns from contact with scent in any form.

I know these are small things in the bigger picture of LIFE. But they are the luxuries that make life that much more enjoyable. And I am happy to be acutely aware of them in my waking moments, so that I can be fully appreciative of these good times while I live them.

It is just so good to feel good again.

In the silence

I don't hear from her in ages. Then she pops up in chat starting to ask how/what I am doing. I am not up to chatting or yakking. I said all is good at my end, and everything about me is updated in FB and blog, and logged out.

She left me a rambling message - something about my being many years younger and do not understand her feelings about things.

I replied reminding her I am all of two years younger. I am not thrilled either about being in my late 50s and if I don't understand her feelings about things, it's because she did not tell me what these things are.

Silence from her since.

In the quiet of silence, I wonder how I can stand to carry on with such so lacking in eruditeness, eloquence and elegance.

And in the quiet of silence, the answer came to me crisp and crystal clear - I cannot.

Drop or Pick up New Friends

At first the couple looked like they are people to chum around with. Like us, they are not tethered to jobs, half grown kids or elderly ailing parents. Like us, they travel at leisure for leisure and explore novel dining experiences.

Then we find we like them less each time we see them:

They ask intrusive questions like "How long have you two been married?"
They ask intrusive questions like "So how long actually have you two been married?" every time we see them.
They ask intrusive questions of our friends like "How can your friend go build an inn in LiJiang?"
And keep doggedly asking the same questions each time we see them.

We and our friends do not have lives that cannot stand up to scrutiny, but we value discretion and privacy. We do not feel we need to disclose everything; we certainly do not need to answer questions that we consider uncomfortably interrogative in nature.

So we start to pull away from too much involvement with them. We pulled out of going with them on a road trip to Lisboa and exotic Spanish towns. I think we saved ourselves a lot of grief.

So our drop rate for suitable company is higher than our pick up rate. So our recruitment exercise to find travel and dining companions continue.

So what?

A good screw up

They are a dread couple from KL who blow into town too many times in the year.

The one is a poor excuse of a former BBC correspondence who never made a dint in his time. We are just tired of his braying insults at everything and everybody in Singapore (including us). The other is an insufferable shameless name dropper.

They always look us up to be wined and dined. We sometimes indulge them and end up wanting to kick ourselves for having been duped one more time. At other times, we make up excuses to not see them, like everyone else who have their wits about them.

We made the bad decision this time to take them out to dinner. Then the man's back went out on him and we called off the dinner.

An old schoolmate is in town with her husband whom we've not met. We had arranged for them to come over for dinner the day after we were to see the dread couple. Somehow, the schoolmate messed up the date so we decided we would go ahead and have her and husband over anyway, even if the man is in pain. We spent the better part of the day scrambling to get the home presentable, and put together a dinner of steaks with all the expected trimmings.

It turned out to be one of the best evenings we've had in a long while. We actually liked her husband!

By evening's end, we even agreed to visit and stay at their home in the country sometime soon.

After they left, we looked at each other and smiled. Sometimes, screw ups really work out better than the best laid plans.

I love a good screw up now and then. Heh

Writing to the CB

She was waiting for me to write her. Why? She wanted to know how we are doing, and how was our recent trip to Bordeaux and Biarritz. I am tired by now to tell her go read my blog.

So I dutifully wrote her, and attached three pictures: this, this and this.

The woman came back with: "That's an interesting pose, and a lovely letter."

That got my ire; I promptly wrote back:

CB, I take offence that my picture is only an interesting pose. Everyone raved about it, and about me. So there.

She's going to come back and ask me what the initials stand for...

Finally, goodbye

She was a new arrival. She wanted to be plugged in to the social scene to have friends to go places and do fun stuff with. I didn't want to put in the effort because, well, she just wasn't my type (if that was a reason). I introduced her to my friend who I know can lead her into activities and groups. I wanted to get her out of my hair. What was I thinking?

This much I knew:
Husband resigned from his job to take up the posting here.
She resigned from her work to come here with him.
They put up their home for rent.
They gave their family car to their daughter.
They will be here for the next 8 years or more.

Two short months later, the picture perfect plan fell apart. The husband was no longer needed in his job. They have 2 weeks to pack up and pack out at their own expense. They get to stay at the rented apartment till the end of the month, and they would be on their own for the remaining 6 days.

Apparently there was no contract. The husband came out here on the say-so of a former colleague.

Alarm bells went off in my head. What kind of people in their/my age group would quit their established and senior job positions to take up a posting in a new-strange-foreign land with no contract?

The woman was hysterical, hurt and angry. The husband acted like he was defeated and lost. My friend was very sympathetic and I was feeling like a heel for not feeling anything remotely resembling sympathy.

When the dust settled, this was what I knew:

They leave on scheduled date.
They stay at a friend's home for 5 days and check into the Marina Sands on the last 2 days.
He has a job back with the company he left, but at a more junior level.
She will look for a job.
They rent a room from a friend till the tenants finish their lease early next year.
Another friend will lend the husband a pick-up truck so he has transport to get to work.
She wants him to put out feelers and let it be known they want to get back here.

I held my breath till departure day. I haven't heard anything from her. I can safely assume she and husband have left.

I let out a sigh of relief. I hope she loses all our phone numbers. I hope I have seen the last of her.

I will still be open to helping people I've just met. But I will most certainly give them the third degree. And I won't palm them off so quickly to someone else.

Instant new citizens

Newly minted Singapore citizens. They are many.

Most are not noteworthy. Some warrant a moment of consideration. Others are downright an affront to ethical sensibilities.

Then there are these.

October

was the month
- I had so many things on my mind that I completely forgot I had tickets for Tango Fire.

- I want to blame the screwball woman who tells me her husband has been let go from his work, and they have to move back to their home country at their own expense. I don't understand how they could have packed up and come here for the husband to take up a job with no contract. She is very upset, I am very suspicious which makes me feel crummy and sorry I ever met her, and getting another friend involved.

- I think of how, elsewhere where I once lived, the weather would have turned decidedly chilly, marking the end of the sunny months.

- I don't feel Halloween here even though there were many Halloween parties over the weekend. I remember elsewhere, when Greta the 7-foot tall witch I made, stood outside my front door. I loved "treating" the little ghosts and goblins who braved walking past Greta to ring my door bell. I detested the big evil looking ghouls who came treat or tricking.

- I feel somewhat sad that another year will soon end.

Night of Bellydancers

The night is for the bellydancers.

They are students and teachers from Claribel's Raks Sharki Studio.

They are seasoned performers, on-going students and newbies; they danced their best for their fellow dancers, friends and family.

I have said it before, and I say it again - there is something honest and sincere about the dancers who perform on this platform.

And there is a lot to be said about the principal/owner of the dance studio who continues to provide this opportunity for the dancers and their fans.

Night of Chili Crab

We had planned a Chili Crab night with the friends but it was a long time coming because of busy work/travel/social schedules. Finally, it was D-Day.

It was such a biggie with the guys. A whole week before the date, the man went every day to the crab vendor to check on the supply of fresh crabs. The man's BFF said if there were no crabs at this one location on the day, they will both source from another vendor across the island.

Thankfully, picking up the crabs did not pose a problem. In fact, the crabman helped us select the crabs.

Then the furious cooking among the friends. The final spread - freshly rolled Vietnamese spring roll (not featured in picture), sambal prawns, fried bee hoon, chili crabs. We actually had to struggle to put away some of the cakes came dessert time.

We had a grand time putting the dinner together. But, oh the work!

I think we will let the Chili Crab restaurants do the cooking the next time Crab fever hits.

Doggy love

A cousin and an uncle lost their pet dogs after a brief period of age-related illness. Understandably, the two men are devastated and in inconsolable mourning.

I wish I could do or say something to make the grief more bearable. I wish they could be more like me and talk about their loss. But no, they are grief stricken, and family members insist that no mention be made of the dogs.

While I respect their wishes, I still think it is too bad that the men and their families take this approach.

My ace dog passed away many years ago. I still tear up when I talk about her. I had dogs after her, and I loved every one of them dearly and cared for them as much. They in turn gave me many happy years of doggy fun and love. But my ace dog is the only one who can walk on water, you see.

The grieving is normal and inevitable. But there are so many good memories to cherish. So, grieve in whatever form it takes, and take however long is necessary.

Just do not shut off the mind and heart to another mutt who is waiting to share his doggy life with you. When you are ready to love again.

The Belly Dance Hip Scarf

There are many reasons women are attracted to bellydance: the sensuous body movements, the intoxicating music, the middle-eastern environment.

I think it's a lot more basic than that. I think we just love the bellydance costume and all the accessories :)

It all starts with the hip scarf. It is the single item that separates the belly dancer from all other dancers no matter what exercise gear she wears to practice.

So when I noticed the only woman in practice class without a hip scarf, I lent her mine. And I watched with amazement how she kept looking herself in the mirror as she went through the paces, loving how the coins on the hip scarf went dingly-dangly jingly-jangly as she moved.

I don't know why she hasn't gotten herself a hip scarf by now. Maybe it's the money. Maybe she feels she's too old to be wearing something so showy. Whatever.

At the end of practice, I told her to please keep the scarf. She protested. Then she offered to buy it off me.

No, I insisted. I told her I wanted her to have it. That it would make me very happy to see her keep it and enjoy dance with it.

She finally accepted the offer. With the slightest of a shy smile, she said a soft "Thank you". Then she caressed the hip scarf one more time before carefully folding it and tucking it into her bag.

I have to admit I feel darn good seeing how much she loved the hip scarf. I hope she keeps dancing for a long, long time...

When in France...

I was in France two times - in September a year ago, and again in September that just was.

I remember the beautiful old-world architecture, the strikingly beautiful countryside, the great wining and dining experience. Most of all, I remember the wonderfully hospitable friends and friends of friends who went out of their way to show us the place they call home.

I also remember the surly and resentful treatment I got from the very people whose job it is to provide help and service.

Like the tight-lipped monsieur or madam working the information booths who would not want to give me information;

Like the airline that cancelled my flight for no known reason and their ground crew would offer no alternative transport to my next destination;

Like the VAT refund counter at CDG where there is a perpetual long queue,

and after all documentation are grudgingly vetted and stamped, the angry monsieur/madam points sharply at the mail drop across from them where I am to mail my precious documents,

and I walk up to the mail box measuring all of 30cmX20cmX15cm (12inX8inX6in) and ram my one envelope into the overfilled receptacle, daring it to burst and dump its contents unceremoniously on the floor in protest.

Francophiles try to convince me that the French are not really rude.

They tell me that the French people are reluctant to speak English because they don't think they speak it well enough.

That I must never approach a French person and ask, "Can you speak English please." Instead, I am to say with a sing-song lilt, "Bonjour, mademoiselle/monsieur", followed by "parlez-vous Anglais, s'il vous plait". Did that. Did no good.

That the French are more reserved, and do not respond to strangers with a smile, unlike, say. the gregarious Americans.

The Francophiles miss my point. I am not complaining about the private French citizen. I am griping about people whose job it is to provide information and/or service. I am saying it is almost a matter of national pride and duty for that country to be not nice to visitors.

Then other friends tell me it is all worse in England/Italy/Germany. I readily and easily take their word for it. I am just not interested to rank them ...

Biarritz and the Basque country

Biarritz on the Basque coast in South Western France was once a small whaling sea town. It became more renowned when Empress Eugenie (wife of Napoleon III) fell in love with the place and built her summer palace La Ville Eugenie (the present day Hotel Du Palais) on the beach.

Today, Biarritz is a popular tourist destination with much to offer: Basque culture and cuisine, beaches, golf, hiking trail, shopping etc.
What I remember most is how strikingly beautiful the place is - a battered coast that meets gentle hills and valleys. White buildings with timber trims painted brown, green, burgundy or navy hug the hill paths, while the majestic peaks of the Pyrenees lie beyond.

Open Road

Under a perfect autumn sky, the friends took to the open freeway and rode 55 km each way Bordeaux-Arcachon-Bordeaux. Like the heroes they still are:)

If you don't ride you don't know
Where I've been and where I'm going
It's all about the freedom of the open road

It doesn't matter if you are young or old
running with the pack or rolling on your own
It's all about the freedom of the open road

Joe Janiak

The Left Bank

The river Gironde runs through the Bordeaux wine region, dividing it into two distinct wine producing zones.

The Right Bank is hilly; the chateaux/vineyards are small (between 5 to 10 hectares), and the owner-operator lovingly tends his vineyard like his garden. The composition of the soil is clay-limestone-sand, and the grape of choice is Merlot. The wine comes across delightfully "fruity".

The Left Bank is flat, the chateaux are imposing massive architectural marvels of turrets and spires, the vineyards are 50-80 hectares or more and the owners are big, moneyed families or business. The composition of the soil is largely gravel, and the grape of choice is Cabernet-Sauvignon. The wine is distinctly berry-flavoured.
If one remembers nothing else about the Left Bank, one remembers the Big 5 of the most prestigious names in wine Chateaux: Latour, Lafite-Rothschild, Mouton-Rothschild, Margaux and Haut Brion.

And I was there. Wow...

Saint Emilion and the Right Bank

Saint-Emilion's fame is due to its wines but also to its historical and cultural inheritance. The walled hilltop village of St. Emilion itself, which has survived almost untouched from the Middle Ages was classified "World Patrimony" in 1999 by the UNESCO.
Ironically, given that St. Emilion can trace its wine-producing heritage all the way back to the Romans and the second century A.D., this village is also on the cutting edge of the push for a more modern style of Bordeaux wine, and the appellation is home to some of the most technically inspired wines in all of Bordeaux.

St. Emilion winegrowers have launched an ambitious, community-based biodiversity project to create miles of interconnected "green" corridors throughout the 20,000-acre region of Bordeaux in a bid for sustainability.

Little wonder that it is one of the most popular destinations in the wine producing regions of France.The attractive medieval village of cobblestone streets and ancient walls has it all - history, heritage and modernity.

Eating in Bordeaux and Biarritz

Eating is always a priority for any visitor to France - always an experience to re-live and re-hash long after one has left the country.
French food is diverse, and what sets French cuisine apart from other great cuisines is the culture of cooking with what is available locally.

I still remember the food experience from last year. Lyon boasts the most tantalising of sausages; the Rhone valley is famous for its fruit and young vegetables; the world's most exquisite desserts come from Provence and Cote d'Azur.

This time, in Bordeaux and the Basque country of Biarritz, I am in the land of seafood and heavy farm-based foods like pate, terrines, foie gras, confits, magrets.

I love Mephisto Shoes!

There is a lot of walking in travel. This is especially true of travel in the Old World, where one can expect to walk on miles of cobblestone pavements on hilly terrain.

I cannot bring myself to wear sports shoes for my romps in an urban setting. I would suffer aches in the heel, foot, leg, back, neck before I would commit such a fashion faux pas.

There are many shoes in the market that boast comfort wear. There must be as many varied opinions about what is considered comfortable. I have paid enough in terms of blisters, crushed toes, referred aches and pains, and money to learn which big name shoes do not live up to their advertisement.

Then, on this recent trip, I walked into Mephisto on 19 Rue Voltaire, 33000 Bordeaux.

That day, I walked into a world that knows shoes from overpriced over-rated foot wrappers. That day, my life is transformed. That day, my love for shoes was re-kindled.

That day, I stopped dreading long treks on hilly pavements of cobblestone.

September

was the month
I was in France again, exactly a full year later

- with the same traveling companions,
- but this time in Bordeaux-Biarritz
- and this time, the weather was all blue skies with brilliant sunshine and cool gentle breeze.

I could live here for a while, even if I don't speak their language and they won't speak mine.