What a huge difference 5 weeks makes! When I went to Oslo in early march it was absolutely freezing and I didn't enjoy it one bit. Now in Bergen (higher up north and therefore potentially colder) its about 11 deg, which is perfect. Plus the fact that it looks prettier here than Oslo.
I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy this trip much more.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Restaurants
And of course the last thing restaurants and pubs need in the UK (or Singapore), having already been half killed off by the recession, is something which causes people to stay away from restaurants.
I think the whole sector is going to hemorrhage.
What a great time to be looking for food bargains.
And we should all buy stock in companies dealing with frozen food.
I think the whole sector is going to hemorrhage.
What a great time to be looking for food bargains.
And we should all buy stock in companies dealing with frozen food.
Tamiflu
At times you really have to view things you read in the media with scepticism.
When a currency crisis is about to happen for example, the media will publish reports of some minister saying "there's nothing wrong with the country, reserves are strong, debt is in control, blah blah blah". And then 2 months later the currency crashes. Like in Malaysia / Thailand in 1997.
And then when there was a run on the banks, the government had to step in to say that "all deposits are safe".
Likewise currently, Govt ministers are telling people not to buy Tamiflu. That it is "ineffective", and that the best course of action is for the government to hold it. The govt has enough stockpiles according to world guidelines, which recommend holding enough to treat about 25% of the population.
But the whole purpose of the statement is to hope that enough people are convinced, so as to take that recommended action, to avoid a run on the currency/bank/flu medicine.
As an individual, one has to be more circumspect and read between the lines and judge for yourself whether they are talking nonsense. Do we really think that there will be enough supply if a major pandemic breaks out? Will the government be able to administer flu jabs fast enough?
Perhaps the answer in Singapore is yes.
But certainly, here in the UK, I wouldn't bet my life on it, having heard horror stories about the NHS.
And so. I think I'm going to head to the pharmacy, and get myself some Tamiflu. The only problem is, I think it's a prescription drug.
When a currency crisis is about to happen for example, the media will publish reports of some minister saying "there's nothing wrong with the country, reserves are strong, debt is in control, blah blah blah". And then 2 months later the currency crashes. Like in Malaysia / Thailand in 1997.
And then when there was a run on the banks, the government had to step in to say that "all deposits are safe".
Likewise currently, Govt ministers are telling people not to buy Tamiflu. That it is "ineffective", and that the best course of action is for the government to hold it. The govt has enough stockpiles according to world guidelines, which recommend holding enough to treat about 25% of the population.
But the whole purpose of the statement is to hope that enough people are convinced, so as to take that recommended action, to avoid a run on the currency/bank/flu medicine.
As an individual, one has to be more circumspect and read between the lines and judge for yourself whether they are talking nonsense. Do we really think that there will be enough supply if a major pandemic breaks out? Will the government be able to administer flu jabs fast enough?
Perhaps the answer in Singapore is yes.
But certainly, here in the UK, I wouldn't bet my life on it, having heard horror stories about the NHS.
And so. I think I'm going to head to the pharmacy, and get myself some Tamiflu. The only problem is, I think it's a prescription drug.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
17 going on 18 part 2
Continuing from the post below where the Waitrose counter girl thought I was 18 or 19.
That same evening I had some friends over and I thought I'd get some sparkling wine from Tesco to go with the blackcurrent liqueur - a Ribena on steroids of sorts. Again, I got asked for ID, but this time the counter person thought I was "17..or 18..."
It just struck me that generally tenors all tend to look young and basses all tend to look old. Why is that?
I mean, just look at the basses in VC. They all look old.
That same evening I had some friends over and I thought I'd get some sparkling wine from Tesco to go with the blackcurrent liqueur - a Ribena on steroids of sorts. Again, I got asked for ID, but this time the counter person thought I was "17..or 18..."
It just struck me that generally tenors all tend to look young and basses all tend to look old. Why is that?
I mean, just look at the basses in VC. They all look old.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Bankers who can't count
Today I was tickled pink by the fact that it took me 20 mins to explain to 2 bankers a simple equation.
Reduced to mathematical / logical form:
The point was that X could tell Y that he wanted to call it quits if:
[A + B] > [C + D - E], where A, B, C, D, and E > 0
A+B was calculated to be about 151.
C+D was calculated to be about 143.
A secondary school student would immediately tell you that it wouldn't matter what the value of E is - the condition would be fulfilled.
And so, rightly, X simply told Y that since [A+B] > [C+D], they wanted to call it quits.
Banker A then asked me: "what about E? Don't we need to know the value of E? How do we check their calculation? how do we know that X is correct in calling it quits???"
It took me 10 mins to explain to him that the value of E was irrelevant because whatever it was, if [A+B] > [C+D], then [A+B] > [C+D-E] whatever the value of E.
He struggled to understand. Then he finally got the point, and went to tell his subordinate.
Who then called me 10 mins later and confessed that he was lost as to why E didn't count. I then took twice as long to explain to him the same concept.
That conversation of 20 mins cost them £135. For what is essentially simple algebra. This is so much better than giving tuition.
Aside from the fact that I was quite amused (since stereotypically it should be I who can't count), I wondered if it was indeed true that the standard of maths and science in the UK had gone down the drain over the last century.
On a more disconcerting note, if the bankers can't count, then how are we meant to trust them with our money?!? Makes one wonder who does the financial modelling behind all the clever financial structuring. Maybe that's what got the world into this financial mess.
Reduced to mathematical / logical form:
The point was that X could tell Y that he wanted to call it quits if:
[A + B] > [C + D - E], where A, B, C, D, and E > 0
A+B was calculated to be about 151.
C+D was calculated to be about 143.
A secondary school student would immediately tell you that it wouldn't matter what the value of E is - the condition would be fulfilled.
And so, rightly, X simply told Y that since [A+B] > [C+D], they wanted to call it quits.
Banker A then asked me: "what about E? Don't we need to know the value of E? How do we check their calculation? how do we know that X is correct in calling it quits???"
It took me 10 mins to explain to him that the value of E was irrelevant because whatever it was, if [A+B] > [C+D], then [A+B] > [C+D-E] whatever the value of E.
He struggled to understand. Then he finally got the point, and went to tell his subordinate.
Who then called me 10 mins later and confessed that he was lost as to why E didn't count. I then took twice as long to explain to him the same concept.
That conversation of 20 mins cost them £135. For what is essentially simple algebra. This is so much better than giving tuition.
Aside from the fact that I was quite amused (since stereotypically it should be I who can't count), I wondered if it was indeed true that the standard of maths and science in the UK had gone down the drain over the last century.
On a more disconcerting note, if the bankers can't count, then how are we meant to trust them with our money?!? Makes one wonder who does the financial modelling behind all the clever financial structuring. Maybe that's what got the world into this financial mess.
Foot reflexology
What do I miss most right now about Asia?
Is it the yummy local food? Nope, not quite.
Is it the warm weather? Nope definitely not.
Is it my car? No, I can live without that.
No, what I want right now, is an hour's worth of very vigorous and
painful Chinese foot reflexology. Oh I miss bony fingers digging deep
into my feet, reaching the inner veins and nerves, and expertly
manipulating the blood flow across my feet and sending millions of
pleasure signals to my brain at the same time. And then the knuckles
going across the tip of my toes, sending me into a stoned state.
Ooh, the thought of it makes my toes tingle with excitement.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
I am 17 going on 18....
At the local supermarket this morning where I was buying my numerous bottles of wine, I was asked for my ID, which I gave with great amusement. I asked her how old she thought I was and her response was:
"I don't really know....you look quite young, I'd say 18 or 19..."
Hurhurhur
"I don't really know....you look quite young, I'd say 18 or 19..."
Hurhurhur
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Mortified. Kill me now.
I am absolutely mortified.
Today I decided that I needed to do my business in the disabled toilet
since it was nice and big and probably very clean. I thought I locked
it, but apparently not, because the GLOBAL HEAD OF DEPARTMENT decided
that he wanted to use the toilet too, and opened the door while I was
in the midst of uhm, examining the tissue to see if there was uhm, any
residue left to wipe.
So I sat there and gasped at him, tissue in hand, and he gave me a
look which bordered on disgust, and walked out. I then frantically
went to make sure the door was locked properly.
I am beyond mortified.
On my assessment report, or any other future dealings, the only thing
he will remember is me, sitting in the disabled toilet with my pants
down, soiled tissue in hand.
Well done.
Excuse me while I jump onto the Tube tracks.
Bye bye cruel world.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Bordeaux vs Burgundy, and the relationship of wine and women
The taste of wine says much about (i) the region the grapes have grown in and (ii) the people who make them. That must have an element of truth in it because (i) the weather, climate, quality of soil and gradient of the land determines the intensity of the flavours of the grape and (ii) even though two people start with the same basic material, the end product depends on the method of production - since there's no fixed method, the possibilities are endless, and it all depends on the maker's preference, which must necessarily say something about the maker's character.
At the wine shop today (see post below) I met up with a very friendly store keeper - he was French, and I told him that I'd just come back from Burgundy two days ago and was missing France and the Burgundian wines terribly, hence my unintended visit to the shop.
I'd selected a bottle which he said was "really good stuff" (I hope it is) and we started talking about wines and what our preferences were. I mentioned that I really loved the Burgundian wines and we had a wonderful conversation about how the one could drink a good Burgundy red wine the whole night - as time passes the smell changes and each drink is different from the last, yet on the whole the wine maintains its gentle and subtle flavours. Lovely.
His theory (he insisted it was as good as law because all his friends fit the theory), was that people who preferred Burgundian wines tend to like gentle women (because Burgundian wines are delicate), whereas people who preferred the wines of Bordeaux preferred women of character (because the wines of Bordeaux have more oomph).
We then sort of talked about Spanish wine - the red wines of Spanish are quite intense - strong, spicy, almost fiery with a lot of flavour. Not to be trifled with, and can get sickly if you have too much of it. He readily agreed and said that his ex-Spanish girlfriend was almost too much to deal with - she'd throw plates at him....fiery indeed.
Interesting isn't it, that wine is like women. Like wine, women don't necessarily age very well. They may sort of start off good tasting/looking but after an expiry period will start to age. When that expiry period hits, only a small proportion have what it takes to age gracefully. The rest just sort of well, turn into vinegar. I'm talking about wine and women.
At the wine shop today (see post below) I met up with a very friendly store keeper - he was French, and I told him that I'd just come back from Burgundy two days ago and was missing France and the Burgundian wines terribly, hence my unintended visit to the shop.
I'd selected a bottle which he said was "really good stuff" (I hope it is) and we started talking about wines and what our preferences were. I mentioned that I really loved the Burgundian wines and we had a wonderful conversation about how the one could drink a good Burgundy red wine the whole night - as time passes the smell changes and each drink is different from the last, yet on the whole the wine maintains its gentle and subtle flavours. Lovely.
His theory (he insisted it was as good as law because all his friends fit the theory), was that people who preferred Burgundian wines tend to like gentle women (because Burgundian wines are delicate), whereas people who preferred the wines of Bordeaux preferred women of character (because the wines of Bordeaux have more oomph).
We then sort of talked about Spanish wine - the red wines of Spanish are quite intense - strong, spicy, almost fiery with a lot of flavour. Not to be trifled with, and can get sickly if you have too much of it. He readily agreed and said that his ex-Spanish girlfriend was almost too much to deal with - she'd throw plates at him....fiery indeed.
Interesting isn't it, that wine is like women. Like wine, women don't necessarily age very well. They may sort of start off good tasting/looking but after an expiry period will start to age. When that expiry period hits, only a small proportion have what it takes to age gracefully. The rest just sort of well, turn into vinegar. I'm talking about wine and women.
Chao Keng
aka Skive.
I've never been a skiver. Well, almost never. And I get irritated with people who skive, because that creates an unfair burden on the other people who don't skive. It takes a great manager to spot skiving and to address it, because by definition, if one were good at skiving, one wouldn't get caught.
So it's with great guilt that the reason for this post is to make a confession that I skived from work twice this week.
Skiving Incident No. 1
On Monday, having (i) returned from my holiday, (ii) having slept at 3.30 am the night before, (iii) having gone to the nearest wine supermarket and realising that the favourite wines I discovered in France ARE NOT AVAILABLE, I felt really down and sleepy, and decided to declare to the office that I was "feeling a little under the weather and will work from home". That wasn't a lie at all, because I was REALLY feeling under the weather. I just wasn't sick enough to be excused from work, and hence the little addition at the end that I would "work from home".
Of course, I DID work from home, logging into the office system and clearing emails and doing some real work. For all of 2 hours. And after that I spent the rest of the day watching TV and surfing the net. In my defence, I genuinely had no work to do that couldn't wait until the next day, and I promptly cleared it today.
My plan for yesterday was to get a haircut down in Covent Garden, but I couldn't get my ass off my chair to bathe.
Skiving Incident No. 2
Since I didn't get my haircut yesterday, it was intolerably long by this morning. And so, at 12.45pm, I set off to get my hair cut, figuring that I'd make it back in 1.5 hours, whereupon the following sequence of events took place.
(a) I decided to take the bus instead of the tube so as to avoid changing between the tube lines (I'd have to walk whereas the bus takes me there directly), and there was a big lunch jam.
(b) I got off one stop too late and had to backtrack.
(c) On the way I decided to buy a sandwich for lunch and discovered, to my horror, that I forgot to replace the Euros in my wallet with Pounds!!!! Thus being penniless. A little bit of pleading with the sandwich shop and they allowed me to pay by card.
(d) Since I knew that the hair place had no card machine and therefore it'd be impossible to pay by card there, thus began my journey to find a f****** ATM. It couldn't be that hard to find an ATM machine in town right? Wrong. I traipsed all over Covent Garden and didn't see a cash machine.
(e) Since I couldn't find a cash machine, the next best thing was a supermarket to get cashback with a purchase. Thus began my search for a grocery shop. After another 10 mins I found Marks and Spencer, but had to queue for another 5 mins to get to the cashier, and also spend 83p on a bottle of water. Rip. Off.
(f) After finishing my haircut, which was at most a 10 min affair, it was already 2.15 pm, and I began my trip back to the bus station, but unfortunately got waylaid by a shop with a sign outside: "Fine Wines" and HAD to visit after the huge disappointment from the day before at the supermarket. That was quite an interesting shop - see next post - but my chat and shopping there took another 15 mins or so.
(g) At this point in time it was like 2.45 pm, and I decided that I couldn't possibly traipse back to the office with 2 bottles of wine at hand, and since the bus stopped near my house, I could dispose of the evidence there before going to work.
(h) When I got home, I remembered that I was a postbox for my friend's online shopping trip to Anya Heindmark (or however that's spelt). My friend had just bought some weird python clutch bag thing and needed it sent to my house because they don't ship it overseas without some export permit since python skin is some restricted item. My paranoid (yes Val, this is for you) friend, who's coming up in June to get it from me, had already sent me numerous messages this morning telling me that the thing had arrived at 8 am this morning and ordered me to make a "cursory" inspection to make sure that the bag was ok. Thus began the process of typing a report of the results of my inspecting something I have absolutely no idea about. Does anyone know anything about python skin? To me it's just gross, scaly and I think the scales are going to fall off, and I can't imagine why anyone would like python skin. Or is that how it's meant to be.
So after this very unfortunate sequence of events, it was about 4 pm by the time I got back to office. I had the foresight to go out without my coat on (it's warm enough in London now to do that) and so I hope noone noticed. A newjoiner asked me if I was busy 'cos I was seemed to "come in early to the office and leave late" in reply to which it was all I could to stifle a snicker and reply: "oh? no...I'm ok. Not that busy."
So there. I confessed. Do I feel good about it? Well, there's always pleasure to be taken from doing dirty deeds once in a while. God save my soul.
I've never been a skiver. Well, almost never. And I get irritated with people who skive, because that creates an unfair burden on the other people who don't skive. It takes a great manager to spot skiving and to address it, because by definition, if one were good at skiving, one wouldn't get caught.
So it's with great guilt that the reason for this post is to make a confession that I skived from work twice this week.
Skiving Incident No. 1
On Monday, having (i) returned from my holiday, (ii) having slept at 3.30 am the night before, (iii) having gone to the nearest wine supermarket and realising that the favourite wines I discovered in France ARE NOT AVAILABLE, I felt really down and sleepy, and decided to declare to the office that I was "feeling a little under the weather and will work from home". That wasn't a lie at all, because I was REALLY feeling under the weather. I just wasn't sick enough to be excused from work, and hence the little addition at the end that I would "work from home".
Of course, I DID work from home, logging into the office system and clearing emails and doing some real work. For all of 2 hours. And after that I spent the rest of the day watching TV and surfing the net. In my defence, I genuinely had no work to do that couldn't wait until the next day, and I promptly cleared it today.
My plan for yesterday was to get a haircut down in Covent Garden, but I couldn't get my ass off my chair to bathe.
Skiving Incident No. 2
Since I didn't get my haircut yesterday, it was intolerably long by this morning. And so, at 12.45pm, I set off to get my hair cut, figuring that I'd make it back in 1.5 hours, whereupon the following sequence of events took place.
(a) I decided to take the bus instead of the tube so as to avoid changing between the tube lines (I'd have to walk whereas the bus takes me there directly), and there was a big lunch jam.
(b) I got off one stop too late and had to backtrack.
(c) On the way I decided to buy a sandwich for lunch and discovered, to my horror, that I forgot to replace the Euros in my wallet with Pounds!!!! Thus being penniless. A little bit of pleading with the sandwich shop and they allowed me to pay by card.
(d) Since I knew that the hair place had no card machine and therefore it'd be impossible to pay by card there, thus began my journey to find a f****** ATM. It couldn't be that hard to find an ATM machine in town right? Wrong. I traipsed all over Covent Garden and didn't see a cash machine.
(e) Since I couldn't find a cash machine, the next best thing was a supermarket to get cashback with a purchase. Thus began my search for a grocery shop. After another 10 mins I found Marks and Spencer, but had to queue for another 5 mins to get to the cashier, and also spend 83p on a bottle of water. Rip. Off.
(f) After finishing my haircut, which was at most a 10 min affair, it was already 2.15 pm, and I began my trip back to the bus station, but unfortunately got waylaid by a shop with a sign outside: "Fine Wines" and HAD to visit after the huge disappointment from the day before at the supermarket. That was quite an interesting shop - see next post - but my chat and shopping there took another 15 mins or so.
(g) At this point in time it was like 2.45 pm, and I decided that I couldn't possibly traipse back to the office with 2 bottles of wine at hand, and since the bus stopped near my house, I could dispose of the evidence there before going to work.
(h) When I got home, I remembered that I was a postbox for my friend's online shopping trip to Anya Heindmark (or however that's spelt). My friend had just bought some weird python clutch bag thing and needed it sent to my house because they don't ship it overseas without some export permit since python skin is some restricted item. My paranoid (yes Val, this is for you) friend, who's coming up in June to get it from me, had already sent me numerous messages this morning telling me that the thing had arrived at 8 am this morning and ordered me to make a "cursory" inspection to make sure that the bag was ok. Thus began the process of typing a report of the results of my inspecting something I have absolutely no idea about. Does anyone know anything about python skin? To me it's just gross, scaly and I think the scales are going to fall off, and I can't imagine why anyone would like python skin. Or is that how it's meant to be.
So after this very unfortunate sequence of events, it was about 4 pm by the time I got back to office. I had the foresight to go out without my coat on (it's warm enough in London now to do that) and so I hope noone noticed. A newjoiner asked me if I was busy 'cos I was seemed to "come in early to the office and leave late" in reply to which it was all I could to stifle a snicker and reply: "oh? no...I'm ok. Not that busy."
So there. I confessed. Do I feel good about it? Well, there's always pleasure to be taken from doing dirty deeds once in a while. God save my soul.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Overheard on the train:
"Facebook is just the most amazing thing ever. I love it. I mean, I've had sex with 4 of the girls there whom I'd never have met without Facebook! "
[And then proceeds to discuss each one in turn]
"Facebook is just the most amazing thing ever. I love it. I mean, I've had sex with 4 of the girls there whom I'd never have met without Facebook! "
[And then proceeds to discuss each one in turn]
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Bloody Paris
So. I'm back in "Cool Brittania" aka UK, or what they would like to think. The immigration is manned by such stupid, incompetent and rude people its enough to put anyone off UK forever.
My friend went onto Paris this morning, and promptly got his camera stolen at some metro station. I feel really sorry for him though I did warn him that Paris is full of pickpockets; plus its dirty and smelly. The camera's not important, because that's just a matter of money and covered mostly by insurance; but the pictures are irreplaceable. At some time during the trip before this I asked him if he was going to buy any souvenirs and he said no, because the only souvenirs he needed are in the form of pictures to refresh his memory. So the loss must be especially devastating.
I still have my pictures I guess, and we have many duplications, but of course its not the same because (I) I haven't applied my brain taking pics for this trip - they are mostly run of the mil tourist pics and rather meaningless ie suck; (ii) there's a reason behind snapping each picture - at the time you clicked the shutter button there was a thought you had in mind, and the picture reminds you of that thought - someone else's picture won't trigger that same memory.
So, Paris sucks. So much unlike the rest of France. The people in the French countryside are so incredibly warm.
My friend went onto Paris this morning, and promptly got his camera stolen at some metro station. I feel really sorry for him though I did warn him that Paris is full of pickpockets; plus its dirty and smelly. The camera's not important, because that's just a matter of money and covered mostly by insurance; but the pictures are irreplaceable. At some time during the trip before this I asked him if he was going to buy any souvenirs and he said no, because the only souvenirs he needed are in the form of pictures to refresh his memory. So the loss must be especially devastating.
I still have my pictures I guess, and we have many duplications, but of course its not the same because (I) I haven't applied my brain taking pics for this trip - they are mostly run of the mil tourist pics and rather meaningless ie suck; (ii) there's a reason behind snapping each picture - at the time you clicked the shutter button there was a thought you had in mind, and the picture reminds you of that thought - someone else's picture won't trigger that same memory.
So, Paris sucks. So much unlike the rest of France. The people in the French countryside are so incredibly warm.
It's 12 noon and I'm already high. Not a good sign. I'm going off alcohol for a week when I get back. Need to detox. My skin is starting to show signs of the abuse I've put my body through. Dry sallow face - sign of dehydration (but if I drink water I'll puke). Need to eat more greens (have not eaten much since setting foot into France exactly a week ago) and exercise.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Pleasantville
(Almost typed Peasantville by accident...)
Again, it's a village in the middle of nowhere. What's amazing about this tiny village is that there are small speakers connected to what must be a central sound system somewhere in the centre. It's now Saturday morning and everywhere I turn there's lovely black church choir music everywhere! "Hallelujahhh, hallelujah!!!"
With God being omnipresent I wouldn't be surprised if this village had zero crime! Every city should adopt this. And how pleasant it must be to walk around.
Again, it's a village in the middle of nowhere. What's amazing about this tiny village is that there are small speakers connected to what must be a central sound system somewhere in the centre. It's now Saturday morning and everywhere I turn there's lovely black church choir music everywhere! "Hallelujahhh, hallelujah!!!"
With God being omnipresent I wouldn't be surprised if this village had zero crime! Every city should adopt this. And how pleasant it must be to walk around.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Balance
My trip to France gives a different perspective to my other recent trips to places like Nepal, Vietnam and Cambodia.
Here, you are reminded of life's fineries, and I feel very fortunate, compared to my student days, not to have to count my pennies. I can, within reason, buy whatever I want, eat whatever I want, drink whatever I want, and stay whereever I want.
Burgundy reminds me of why it is I work so bloody hard. It's so that I can afford to pursue life's pleasures, whatever it may be, to the fullest extent possible. Were I interested in wine, it would give me the opportunity to sample the finest out there. Were I interested in language classes, I could hire a coach to teach me personally (I'm seriously thinking of taking up French).
On the other end of the spectrum, my trips to the developing countries remind me of how material things are not the be all and end all - in Nepal for example, the people can be so happy with so very little. In comparison, one sees so many unhappy faces in Singapore, KL and Hong Kong even though they are materially far better off. It reminds you to take pleasure in the very simple things in life. Like the sunrise. The sunset. Food in the company of family and friends. These trips bring me back down to earth to rebalance my perspective in life.
Perspective. That, in my opinion, is one of the main purposes of travel.
Here, you are reminded of life's fineries, and I feel very fortunate, compared to my student days, not to have to count my pennies. I can, within reason, buy whatever I want, eat whatever I want, drink whatever I want, and stay whereever I want.
Burgundy reminds me of why it is I work so bloody hard. It's so that I can afford to pursue life's pleasures, whatever it may be, to the fullest extent possible. Were I interested in wine, it would give me the opportunity to sample the finest out there. Were I interested in language classes, I could hire a coach to teach me personally (I'm seriously thinking of taking up French).
On the other end of the spectrum, my trips to the developing countries remind me of how material things are not the be all and end all - in Nepal for example, the people can be so happy with so very little. In comparison, one sees so many unhappy faces in Singapore, KL and Hong Kong even though they are materially far better off. It reminds you to take pleasure in the very simple things in life. Like the sunrise. The sunset. Food in the company of family and friends. These trips bring me back down to earth to rebalance my perspective in life.
Perspective. That, in my opinion, is one of the main purposes of travel.
30
30 years ago, at 330 am KL time, I was born, albeit 2 months premature.
Well. Happy birthday to me.
I am now officially old.
From now on, I have a maturity end-date of 5 years after which its just downhill all the way. I'd better make the most of it.
Well. Happy birthday to me.
I am now officially old.
From now on, I have a maturity end-date of 5 years after which its just downhill all the way. I'd better make the most of it.
Dijon and the wine villlages of Burgundy - Part 1
After 2 disappointing days in Marseille and Aix-en-Provence where everything was shut due to Easter, we decided to drive 500 km up north to Dijon, home of mustard.
On the way we stopped for a few hours at a medieval city called Avignon, which was very charming and made us wish we had gone on to the town straightaway.
We also toured some vineyards but the experience was underwhelming to say the least, and the wines crappy.
We then drove onto the city of Dijon, 500 km away and stayed in a crappy motel called Formule 1.
Up to this point I'd been feeling fairly disappointed with my trip, having been eating bread bread and more bread and having crappy food and also wanting to strangle my travelmate.
Things then REALLY started to brighten up, starting with the correct decision we made to stay in some bed and breakfasts.
The first night was in a 300 year old mansion with grounds of at least 30,000 square feet. It seems the brother of the French president stays there from time to time.
Dinner was at a restaurant recommended by the owner and was, to say the least, superb. It was tucked away in the middle of nowhere. I think they were already closed for the day, until the owner of the bnb called them up. Even then, they needed about 90 mins to prepare.
On arrival, we were the only guests at the restaurant. We were greeted by a warm live fireplace with a log burning in the background. For starters, a magnificent piece of foie gras, with a kir (blackcurrent liqueur) as an aperetif. Smooth, creamy, simplicity - nothing except foie gras and a bit of sea salt. Yum.
Then came the mains. Tender duck breast with roast potatoes. Superb. Magnificent.
At this point I was about to burst, when the dessert arrived - light, fermented cheese-yoghurt. Yum.
Then, the final course - summer fruits (blackcurrent, raspberry) with a blackcurrent liqueur sauce.
And to finish off the evening, a shot of local alcohol to aid digestion - 40 per cent proof. It had a lovely raisin aftertaste.
By the time dinner ended we were all giggly a little high. My friend promtly declared that he was in no state to drive, and so I drove.
Except before I even got out of the car park, I sort of reversed the car into a tree, and giggled again. No damage fortunately.
I managed to get us home without further incident. The roads did seem rather fun and the kilometres seemed to pass faster...
On the way we stopped for a few hours at a medieval city called Avignon, which was very charming and made us wish we had gone on to the town straightaway.
We also toured some vineyards but the experience was underwhelming to say the least, and the wines crappy.
We then drove onto the city of Dijon, 500 km away and stayed in a crappy motel called Formule 1.
Up to this point I'd been feeling fairly disappointed with my trip, having been eating bread bread and more bread and having crappy food and also wanting to strangle my travelmate.
Things then REALLY started to brighten up, starting with the correct decision we made to stay in some bed and breakfasts.
The first night was in a 300 year old mansion with grounds of at least 30,000 square feet. It seems the brother of the French president stays there from time to time.
Dinner was at a restaurant recommended by the owner and was, to say the least, superb. It was tucked away in the middle of nowhere. I think they were already closed for the day, until the owner of the bnb called them up. Even then, they needed about 90 mins to prepare.
On arrival, we were the only guests at the restaurant. We were greeted by a warm live fireplace with a log burning in the background. For starters, a magnificent piece of foie gras, with a kir (blackcurrent liqueur) as an aperetif. Smooth, creamy, simplicity - nothing except foie gras and a bit of sea salt. Yum.
Then came the mains. Tender duck breast with roast potatoes. Superb. Magnificent.
At this point I was about to burst, when the dessert arrived - light, fermented cheese-yoghurt. Yum.
Then, the final course - summer fruits (blackcurrent, raspberry) with a blackcurrent liqueur sauce.
And to finish off the evening, a shot of local alcohol to aid digestion - 40 per cent proof. It had a lovely raisin aftertaste.
By the time dinner ended we were all giggly a little high. My friend promtly declared that he was in no state to drive, and so I drove.
Except before I even got out of the car park, I sort of reversed the car into a tree, and giggled again. No damage fortunately.
I managed to get us home without further incident. The roads did seem rather fun and the kilometres seemed to pass faster...
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Puligny-Montrachet
I love it. It's a very tiny village producing some of the finest whirte wines in the world. Walking along the street in the evening, strangers walking by greet me with "Bon Soir" - "Good Evening" - how lovely is that? I feel like bursting out in song from the first scene of Beauty and the Beast which takes place in a French village!
Tears of joy
I never thought I could cry over wine but today I did just that.
We were at a wine tasting and I tried a Grand Cru pinot noir. Just the smell of it made me cry on the spot. The smell was just so intense and wonderful that I just stood there overwhelmed..
We were at a wine tasting and I tried a Grand Cru pinot noir. Just the smell of it made me cry on the spot. The smell was just so intense and wonderful that I just stood there overwhelmed..
Addict
I'm a confirmed addict. All I could think of the entire morning, was when I could next get intimately familiar (heavy tongue action) with a bottle of lovely Gevrey-Chambertin. Oh the blackcurrent flavours....I must take it tonight.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Short people got, no reason
If there were a god, then that god gave me many things - a good brain, a wry sense of humour, a great job, financial security etc.
Unfortunately, he did not give me good looks or height.
It is painfully obvious that one is considered short in Europe when at the men's urinals I have to sort of tiptoe a little to uhm, avoid contact with uhm the urinals....
Unfortunately, he did not give me good looks or height.
It is painfully obvious that one is considered short in Europe when at the men's urinals I have to sort of tiptoe a little to uhm, avoid contact with uhm the urinals....
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Re: Marseille
Urgh my meal costs more than all the clothes I'm wearing. I'm going to eat bread tonight.
Marseille
Red eye flight to Marseille. Am very sleepy right now.
Everything seems to be shut (it being Easter Sunday and all). We decided to eat the signature Marseille dish, bouillabaise, at a restaurant featured in the Michelin guide. Boy it sure doesn't come cheap. I think our meal is going to cost 100 euros a head, without alcohol.
The 500 euros each that we brought isn't going to last very long.
But it sure smells good....
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Could I gush more?
I absolutely love London. It's not due to any one particular factor, but just a series of plus points that makes it such an amazing place to be.
In terms of things to do, no other city that I've been to comes close. Music, theatre, entertainment, culture. I could for example, decide on a Wednesday that I was bored, and go buy a ticket to watch any musical I fancy. Wicked, Lion King, Les Miserables. Whatever. Today it happens to be Lion King (which is amazing except for the irritating but cute kid behind me who keeps going: "Daaaddddd, is he deadddddd??????")
In the weekend, I could wander round any number of parks, or if I were more adventurous, fly to any number of cities to experience a myriad new cultures and food. I could take a drive out to the coutryside. The beach. The mountains. Land's End in Cornwall.
I could take an overnight train, and in 7 hours I'd be in Edinburgh, a new city which speaks English but is completely different in terms of food, culture and accents.
If I wanted to take it easy, I'd pop in to my nearby Marks and Spencer to buy FT weekend, then pop into the numerous Pret a Manger all over the city, have a cup of cappucino very reasonably priced at £2, literally watch the people from all corners of the world walk by, and admire the bevy of beauties in their sunglasses and melodious foreign accented English or their native tongues - Russian, French, Italian, German, PRC, Korean, Japanese, Malaysian/Singaporean, you name the country, they're all represented here.
In terms of food, I dare say all countries of the world are well represented here. Just last weekend I binged on the most wonderful Korean food for 2 dinners out of 3. There are a chain of Japanese inspired restaurants that are cheaper than Sushi Tei and beats iit hands down - how does Salmon sushi with a side of rocket leaves and pumpkin seeds dressed with a thai inspired spicy sweet sound? All for £5??? Or wonderful top class French food at £15-£19 for a set meal of 3 courses???
And the wines. Oh my god. If I stayed here any longer I'd be alcoholic. £10 for an excellent bottle of wine. Wines from all regions of the world. At your local friendly Waitrose supermarket.
Clubbing - music of all types, friendly down to earth girls from all countries, with entry fees barely exceeding £3.
You can do anything you want and nobody would judge you. Nobody cares what clothes you wear. What your interests are. That you couldn't give a shit how many goals Man Pooh, Liverwotzit or Tottenham Who-gives-a-toss scored the other day or whether England is in the semifinals of whatever bloody cup is on.
All of the above, plus the current depressed state of the Sterling, makes London such an incredibly powerful proposition.
I absolutely, wholeheartedly, LOVE London. Like no other city before it.
Were that there were someone to share this with.
In terms of things to do, no other city that I've been to comes close. Music, theatre, entertainment, culture. I could for example, decide on a Wednesday that I was bored, and go buy a ticket to watch any musical I fancy. Wicked, Lion King, Les Miserables. Whatever. Today it happens to be Lion King (which is amazing except for the irritating but cute kid behind me who keeps going: "Daaaddddd, is he deadddddd??????")
In the weekend, I could wander round any number of parks, or if I were more adventurous, fly to any number of cities to experience a myriad new cultures and food. I could take a drive out to the coutryside. The beach. The mountains. Land's End in Cornwall.
I could take an overnight train, and in 7 hours I'd be in Edinburgh, a new city which speaks English but is completely different in terms of food, culture and accents.
If I wanted to take it easy, I'd pop in to my nearby Marks and Spencer to buy FT weekend, then pop into the numerous Pret a Manger all over the city, have a cup of cappucino very reasonably priced at £2, literally watch the people from all corners of the world walk by, and admire the bevy of beauties in their sunglasses and melodious foreign accented English or their native tongues - Russian, French, Italian, German, PRC, Korean, Japanese, Malaysian/Singaporean, you name the country, they're all represented here.
In terms of food, I dare say all countries of the world are well represented here. Just last weekend I binged on the most wonderful Korean food for 2 dinners out of 3. There are a chain of Japanese inspired restaurants that are cheaper than Sushi Tei and beats iit hands down - how does Salmon sushi with a side of rocket leaves and pumpkin seeds dressed with a thai inspired spicy sweet sound? All for £5??? Or wonderful top class French food at £15-£19 for a set meal of 3 courses???
And the wines. Oh my god. If I stayed here any longer I'd be alcoholic. £10 for an excellent bottle of wine. Wines from all regions of the world. At your local friendly Waitrose supermarket.
Clubbing - music of all types, friendly down to earth girls from all countries, with entry fees barely exceeding £3.
You can do anything you want and nobody would judge you. Nobody cares what clothes you wear. What your interests are. That you couldn't give a shit how many goals Man Pooh, Liverwotzit or Tottenham Who-gives-a-toss scored the other day or whether England is in the semifinals of whatever bloody cup is on.
All of the above, plus the current depressed state of the Sterling, makes London such an incredibly powerful proposition.
I absolutely, wholeheartedly, LOVE London. Like no other city before it.
Were that there were someone to share this with.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Management
What is your style of management? Coercive? Accommodating?
According to FT, there's a school of management called the JFDI school of management, frequently employed when up against tight deadlines.
The J, D and I stand for Just Do It. Be creative on the F.
I think that's so me! I'm a JFDI manager.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Confused
With all the travelling I've done I've now managed to confuse myself everytime I cross the road -- I can't remember if I should look left (which you should in Europe), or look right. It must be a hilarious sight of me with my head frantically turning left and right on each street.
"Shits and Giggles"
It's a new phrase I learnt today. Its hilarious. Apparently it means a fun time. Usage: "Let's get together for shits and giggles this Friday", preferably with an English accent.
I'm giggling by myself on the streets just thinking about it. It's hilarious!
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Youth
Throughout my time here I've been asked on many occasions whether I'm in London for studies. They can't believe I'm 29. Even among the asians, they typically think I'm 23 or 24 max. I don't know if it's a good thing. I wonder if at work people take me less seriously for it. I keep getting asked if I'm a trainee - people are shocked to hear that I've worked for 5-6 years.
Mentally, I'm quite happy to be 23. I look at all these uni kids, and I kinda wish I were there again, except obviously with a bigger bank balance than I had then to do all the things that I want to do.
In exactly 2 weeks, I turn 30 years old. The big 3-0. How scary. Some of my contemporaries are already like the father of 2 kids; while I'm still going out getting drunk and passing out in strange apartments overseas.
Sometimes I feel like I'm overcompensating. But at other times I feel that there are so many things still to do that I've yet to do. I look at my best friend from secondary school who's the father of one. He tells me his social life ended when his son was born. His weekend life consists of taking his kid to the shopping mall with his wife while they buy groceries or window shop, and I think: how dull - I'm not ready for a life of mediocrity.
Sigh. 30. I'm like 40 per cent through life. Depressing. Time to get smashed tonight perhaps..
Karaoke
Why is it whenever I go karaoke nobody ever sings English songs??? I don't recognise any of these stupid chinese songs. Well its my last trip with this group.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Alcoholic
You know, I can't remember my last alcohol-free day...maybe I'm turning alcoholic!