Returning

So I’m back from a surreal, hectic, gorgeous week in London, and it seems like a dream. One minute I was going along with life in a sub-tropical climate, the next walking through drizzle in a grey city, trying not to let my umbrella turn inside out. I was vastly unprepared in the clothing department, having overestimated English springtime, why oh why did I think I could wear flip flops? A quick trip to Topshop and all was sorted. Returning to my old life was like taking a much-loved story book off a shelf… the story is familiar and the words echoed in my mind, but the person reading them had changed, and the sentences carried a new meaning. I love London, it’s my home and there are so many people I love there, yet I saw it through a brighter lens. Not much had changed since I left – a couple of weddings, babies growing bigger, friends getting new jobs, but I’ve changed more than that. My perspective on the world has been stretched beyond my imagination. I stick out in Singapore, I’m kind of special here, adventurous. I lay awake with jet lag at 4am this morning, ravenously hungry dreaming of rice porridge – unthinkable a few short months ago! My tastes have changed. The earthquake in Indonesia is nearer now, never again will I hear of a natural disaster in Asia and feel nothing. These people look like my new friends. They’ve been given 12kg of rice in ‘aid’ by the government, and I know they deserve more. Having spent time in Asia, I’ll return to the West a different person – older, thinner, richer, hopefully a little wiser and more compassionate.

London pix 5

London pix 4

London Pix 3

London pix 2

London pix

Home, sweet home...

I lean over from my blanket cacoon and see a sheet of whiteness outside the oval window. I keep looking though, searching for the first glimpse of the city I love. Gradually the haze clears and I look out to this rainy vista, small brick-red houses sprawl organically, surrounded by verdant trees that from this height appear to have been drawn by small children, lollipop-like. I can't explain the emotion that comes with the familiarity of a tree. Such a simple thing, on an ordinary day I must see hundreds. But I've been away. Not for a long time, but long enough to ache for home, for friends and the parts of me that will forever exist only in this city. A kind of joy, a relieved kind of joy, passes through me, and I know I'm gonna have a great time. This is the city I love.

Beach bbq, Singapore style!

Lite

Have you noticed that lots of things are 'lite' nowadays. I don't mean to sound like one of those ranting senior citizens who say things like, "Now then, listen here, all that low-fat rubbish is nonsense! If everyone just got off their fat arse and worked hard rather than watching Richard & Judy all day they'd be able to drink full-cream milk!" I don't really care what other people eat and drink, I mean, it doesn't affect me, and if someone who's dangerously overweight wants to eat a Burger King, well that's ok by me. But sometimes enough is enough, and the healthy option can see like a good idea. I was in Cold Storage the other day (Singapore's equivalent of Waitrose), buying soy milk and laughing at the hilarity of the specially-grown $50 square watermelon, when I noticed that my regular brand of beany-fake-milk-stuff had introduced a 'lite' version. The spelling immediately got my back up, I mean it's only one letter less than the correct spelling! Come on. But it got me thinking... maybe I should be consuming less calories. Maybe if I drink 'lite' soy milk on my cereal I'll be able to eat something else instead. But the problem I've found is that the 'lite' version is generally a euphenism for 'crap-tasting', so I deliberated for a good few minutes on whether to buy it or not. (I would never have wasted such time in London, I was lucky if I even got to the shops, but time is wide-open here, like the grand canyon, all that space just waiting to be filled.) Eventually I buy it, and am disappointed, as I expected. It's kinda watery and more acidic. But hey, at least I can eat another piece of Green & Blacks* to compensate.

* Thank you to everyone who has sent rations of my favourite choc, so much so that there's a bit of a glut at the moment. Unfortunately the ants are rather fond of the Maya Gold, so keep it til I get back folks!

Eeeeekkkkk!!!

There was a storm last night, nothing special about that, it rains loads here and it’s always heavy and aggressive – none of that pathetic English drizzle that can’t decide if it wants to rain or not. Getting off the bus, I threw up my inadequate umbrella and decisively set off up the hill for home, figuring I could always jump straight in the shower should I get soaked. There was something ever-so-slightly scary about walking in this storm though… the night seemed darker than black, the clouds holding up a shade in front of the moon’s light. I carried on, each footstep meeting the pavement firmly in my attempt to get home, and fast. About ten steps on, I step out of my flip flop. No big deal, I turn and retrieve it, slipping my toes into the wet leather. I can’t really see anything, umbrella overhead, my eyes skim the pavement, and my head is full of music turned up loud to counteract the white noise of rain on concrete. Then it happens. A few seconds later a dark streak passes across the pavement and I tread on something small and squishy. Then I hear it, as if in slow motion, ‘Eeekkk!!! Eeekkk!! Eeek! Eeek!’ I look down as I walk on to see a mouse scuttling into the storm drain, having been trodden on by 55kg of Caucasian girl with a small umbrella! I’m ashamed to say that my first thought was for my sanity, wondering if I’d have nightmares. It was only when I shook my umbrella out under the car port that my mind turned to the poor creature. It was probably being flooded out of its home in the storm drain and rushing to the surface for respite gets trodden on by a giant! I hope it’s ok. I mean, I don’t really like mice, but I wouldn’t want to break one’s spine or anything. I’ll be more careful in the rain from now on, I promise.

Over and over

The title of this blog is actually the title of a track by Hot Chip, who I'm loving at the moment. I first saw them in the Square Pie Tent at Glastonbury this year... though Jags did point out that I had my fingers in my ears for the first few minutes until I got 'into' their overexcited style. I remember being transfixed by the small guy in an owl t-shirt whose contribution to the band was to bang a cow bell ...

Anyway, I was gonna blog about how I've been folding paper over and over, not about Hot Chip, even though they're ace and deserve a whole post to themselves.

On Saturday a colleague and I went to Konokuniya, the Japanese bookshop at Takashimaya... it's a geek's paradise, floor upon floor of beautiful books, so I was happy. We ended up buying all this gorgeous origami paper, only to find that the instructions are all weird and we can only remember how to make a crane:

They're beautiful nontheless, and slightly addictive. I've now decided to try to make a collection and string them all together....

I'm a secret Starbucks lover...

For once in my life I’m grateful to Starbucks. Not because I’ve made it my mission to visit every branch on the planet, nor because I like their coffee (admit it, it’s pretty average). No, I’m grateful to this multi-national highly reproductive coffee dispenser because it’s Sunday afternoon, and I’ve come here for a rest. I’ve just been to church and listened to a sermon about sex from an old Canadian guy – a bit like listening to your dad talking about his sex life, had lunch with some friends, and now I have a few hours to kill.

So, I spend $3.85 on a decaf soy latte, and climb sixteen noisy stairs to the first floor of my local ‘bucks. Taking a seat, I count eight other people like me – alone that is – and they’re all busy… reading, studying, listening to their ipods, smsing, one guy is colouring in, he must be a geography student. Hardly anyone’s actually drinking coffee, empty cups and discarded napkins litter the tables.

This quasi-community breathes in synch and there’s a strange sense of ‘belonging’ in this room with the ubiquitous beech chairs and chequerboard tables. We can all stay here as long as we like, all day if we feel like it, because we can’t be thrown out… it would go against the ‘home from home’ advertising by-line. So here we are, in our public lounge, our home for the afternoon, entertaining ourselves by not speaking to anyone else. I wonder what would happen if I tried to start a conversation with someone… it stays a thought, it would be too weird. What would I say? ‘Do you come here often?’ The eternally bad chat-up line.

I did a talk about a year ago about how ipods are the symbol of our generation – the epitome of selfishness, music for one (I now own one so include myself). Just as we listen to our own private vibes, being here in this fridge-like coffee shop on a hot day accentuates the defragmentation of our society. We think we ‘are’, we think we ‘exist’, we think we ‘belong’ here, but we’re lying to ourselves. We’re very much alone on these rented chairs. The guy next to me is a foreign country. My visa has been refused.

Pelican

When I was in Perth, we were driving along the coast near Mandurah, when we spotted three huge pelicans at the side of the river. This one was huge, it came up to my chest in height. He let me get about a metre away before leaping into the water. Pretty cool huh?

Hairy Experience

Do you like going to the hairdressers? Personally I don’t rate it. The experience sits with getting my teeth cleaned, or spending four hours on a National Express bus. But like all of those things, it’s sometimes a necessity. I was pretty wary of letting a Singaporean loose on my Irish locks, having heard horror stories of too many layers and looking like a bush afterwards (Asian hair is cut very differently), so walking past Toni & Guy earlier it seemed to be a good idea. Even in Oz, it’s a pretty pricey place, so I didn’t expect to be soaked by the person washing my hair, or told “You really should brush your hair more” by the stylist. She was a nice enough person, but there’s something aggravating about sitting in front of a mirror for over an hour while a stranger gives you tips on how to have better hair, when I know that I’ll go back to scrunching it with some nice smelling stuff and leaving it to dry in the sun. Oh no, apparently I’m using completely the wrong shampoo, not enough conditioner, I don’t wash my hair enough and I should really think about colour, because everyone’s doing it nowadays and if I want to keep up I’d better join the masses. Hmmm. I felt so rubbish about myself at the end of it that my first thought was to go and buy a whole new outfit! Reality soon hit though, and I went for sushi instead. It’s the green tea, it’s good for you :-)

Perth

Perth is a small city on a huge, wide river with boats and twinkling water reflecting the sun's rays. I'm told that it's almost winter here, but I'm incredulous - people are wearing shorts and flip flops! The cityscape has the appearance of being unreal - like a toy town made out of blocks that can be picked up, examined and put down in a different place. Time seems to have affected slow change here, the buildings have a 1980s feel, and the pace of life is gentle. But who could ask for a better place to spend a weekend? A gentle swim and a walk along a fairytale beach... I like it already.

On the move

An unfamiliar cityscape rolls past smeared windows, and I squint to make out lights – red, blue, white mainly, on predictably tall buildings. Tinny speakers on the airport bus churn out Bon Jovi at low volume, competing, just, with the engine noise. As the bus comes to a slow halt, I resignedly pick up my bags and walk through another grey airport corridor that will lead me, I’m told, to the domestic terminal, and my connection. I’m traveling again.

Whoever said traveling for work was glamorous obviously went on one exciting trip to a Munich tradefair in 1987, the hard bed and eyes scratchy from aeroplane air long forgotten. This morning I splashed cold water on my tired face at 6.30am, early for a Sunday, early for any day for me, and dressed in carefully thought-out black layers for the change in environment. I’m grateful now, as I stop at a bench to peel off my cardigan. It’s warm, warm enough to feel unsettled and slightly queasy. The food on the flight was below-average, and I suddenly realise that I’m ravenous… A glance at the departure board tells me there’s over an hour before the flight boards and I feel like a salad. But it’s Sunday evening and most of the shops are closing. I hurry, hoping to catch a café before closing... no such luck. I sigh and make do with a packet of rice crackers on the flight.

Nine Dragons

In the city of dragons
I chase a shadow
Through this crisp, cold night…
Toes turning blue in summer shoes
We climb, past forest and grey earth
Distant small dwellings.
An engine rumbles
A dog bark echoes.
Here’s a tall pink house,
Reaching its thin roof
Gracefully to the night sky,
With a slither of white light
From a vertical window.
I’m welcomed, this stranger, with
Red wine, drunk slowly,
Sardines, sausages from Waitrose
Talk of flamenco, school and you.
Through smalltalk
Blue eyes search for you
Down a valley to China
But I’ve missed you…
Chasing a shadow,
I’ve missed you.

One for the tourists...

What trip to Singapore would be complete without a trip to Raffles Hotel for afternoon tea? I headed there with my relatives for dim sum, scones, cakes and plenty of tea. It was lovely, but everyone (including us) spent more time taking photos - of the room, each other, the food - that I couldn't help but wonder if we'd all have been better off in a museum.

Durian

Singapore's national fruit is called the "durian", and it's got a fierce reputation for being one of those things to taunt foreigners with! About the size of a melon with spiky green skin, the inside holds pockets of vomit-yellow fruit. The most distinctive characteristic isn't the appearance of this spiky fruit, but the smell... akin to a toilet after a dodgy curry! Consequently they are banned on public transport and people cross the road to avoid a stall selling them at the side of the road. The people I live with, like many Singaporeans, love the durian though. I wanted to try it and tried to have an open mind as I put the slimy flesh into my mouth whilst holding my nose. Two mouthfuls were enough to convince me that I can leave the humble durian off my list of new favourites... even the pigs' trotters were better than this.

Up a mountain

A 45 minute journey on the MTR, and a similar-length, though much more precarious bus journey around Lantau Island, brought us to Ngong Ping, a Buddhist monastry on top of a small mountain. Ngong Ping has the largest statue of a seated Buddha in the world, and is reached by climbing up 260 steps. The weather was kinda misty though, so instead of a shining awe-inspring God in the sky, the Buddha took on a grey, dull appearance. There wasn't any hint of a religious experience due to the hoards of gibbering tourists (ourselves included). I was excited though, but as the bus climbed higher into the mist I realised my summer skirt and flip flops were a bit ambitious... Luckikly for us, a smiling lady at the ticket office took pity on us and provided these rather attractive knitwear items from lost property... a day to remember!