Return to Bali, Continued

My first Saturday morning in Bali was spent naked with a Balinese woman.

Never would have thought those words would have come from my mouth before two years ago.


Back up ... our first morning in the villa included breakfast awaiting us -- gorgeous platters of chilled tropical fruit (mango, watermelon, pineapple, papaya), warm croissant, crustless toast, and French press Balinese coffee.

We are running 20 minutes behind for our eagerly awaited spa appointment at Bodyworks. The ride is a tortuous experience one would only tolerate in Bali, because of the periodic glimpses of rice terraces, flora, random swaggering chickens, roosters and cows. Most of it is comprised of twists and turns on third-world roads, surrounded by the constant buzz of motorbikes. Moreover, our driver only booked us one car for eight ladies. As a result, most of us are cramped, jostled and become quite intimate with each other with each pothole. I'm luckily Dramamine-d out in the front seat.

We arrive at Bodyworks relatively unscathed. I'm excited for my first exfoliating massage -- a "mandi lulur," which Lindsay has talked me into. 

It is a relaxing, rather sensuous experience. Beyond the diaper-like disposable panties in which you are clad.

It's a two-hour treatment, beginning with a proper Balinese massage. From there, you are rubbed with an exfoliating mix of coffee and spices (which smells amazing, particularly when it's been an hour since you've breakfasted on fruit). After that, the woman guides you to stand in a cool, stone tub and rinses you with warm, flower-scented water from a running faucet and basin next to you. Almost done. Now, you are moisturized with yogurt , then rinsed again. The last step is immersion in a proper bathtub complete with floating flower petals and a cup of warm pandan-scented tea. Bliss. The whole time, the window to your private room is open so you're caressed with the warm Balinese air and sweet smells.  The attendant is comforting and skilled. In all, a luxurious experience.

This Bali visit, overall, was one of perfect balance -- luxurious relaxation, decadent food and more local adventures. Check out Facebook for the full album.

Return to Bali

We arrive in Bali. We are starving. We are ready for battle. We race off our Air Asia flight and stuff ourselves into the bus awaiting us at the bottom of the gangplank then fall off the bus into the hell that is the Denpasar immigration hall.

It is a madhouse.

It is Bali on a Friday.

But this is more tortuous than usual because, inexplicably, only half the stalls are open. We purchase our 25USD visas on arrival then migrate over to immigration queues. We settle in for a long wait. Amy blows her nose. Allison entertains. Lindsay abandons us for the business visa line (also inexplicably long).

An hour later, after we are tortured by various odors emanating from fellow travelers, sketchy looking "free water" and smug immigration officials, we are spit out into baggage claim. There is Kari, Lindsay's friend from Turkey who, on a whim has joined our merry band of travelers.

We meet our driver and collapse into the car. Fortunately traffic is light -- one positive. Our unopened, hard-won bottles of Veuve and Grey Goose taunt us the whole way. Lindsay and Kari catch up on life and friends, and I zone out to Spanish guitar. Let the vacation begin.

You know you're becoming Singaporean when ...





1. You add chili padi -- not chili sauce -- to everything, or so say my colleagues who claim I'm becoming Singaporean. I take this as a compliment. Fresh chili rocks.


2. You can sleep with your air-conditioning (or "air con," as the locals say) off, even though it only gets down to about 77 degrees F at night. I cheat a bit -- I have my standing fan blowing on me.




3. You can communicate with the nice taxi uncles without (or, almost without) issue. You know how to give direction -- major landmark or street first, then specific building or address, followed by a major cross street if necessary, unless you're going somewhere "local," in which case it may take them a few seconds to actually belive you mean to go there -- without resorting to charades or Google Maps. You will never be 100 percent foolproof, note.

Favorite coffee in Singapore so far -- 40 Hands in Tiong Bahru,
near Tiong Bahru Market
Photo: 40HandsCoffee.com

4. You start to prefer the local coffee -- kopi -- over Starbucks or similar chain stores. You enjoy frequenting the "kopitiams" and can order with confidence coffee -- "kopi" -- black -- "kopi o/oh" -- iced -- "peng" -- and, my personal choice, without sugar -- "kosong." If you also have embraced the local breakfast of kaya toast (this rich concoction of toast slathered with a gooey spread of kaya, which is coconut, egg, sugar and pandan) and soft-boiled eggs ... well, you may as well never leave. To be fair, I'm halfway there. I have forsaken Starbucks and the like generally and have gravitated toward some of the local cafes and roasters -- e.g., the exceptional 40 Hands in Tiong Bahru. Best. Latte. EVER.

5. You forego expensive grocery chains like Cold Storage and brave the local markets. A recent shopping excursion at Tiong Bahru Market for ingredients to make Thai green mango salad ran me about SGD10 -- for green mango, Thai basil, cilantro, red pepper, chil padi, limes and a few other produce items for the week. The same purchases at Cold Storage would have ran me SGD20+. 

Funny Signs

Fort Canning Park.
Happening place.

Weekend Getaway -- The Heat is on in Saigon

Market day on streets
all around Saigon
Photo: Desiree Koh

I have been most excited for my trip to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, still known to everyone except government officials as "Saigon." I simply ravage any Vietnamese food and am curious to see this country that has played such a significant role in American history for the past 40 years.

In the most anti-climactic moment on this blog, I have to admit it's hard to find words to describe the experience.

It easily has been my favorite Asian travel experience so far. There is something very beautiful in its simplicity. Here was where we simply strolled and observed life -- shopkeepers and vendors tending to their stalls, psuedo-chefs whipping up streetside banh mi, mounds of various sticky rices, lanes and lanes of the infamous motorbike, along with key historic sites like the Reunification Palace, War Remnants Museum, Notre Dame and the rooftop of the Rex Hotel (where the GIs conducted their daily press briefings, coined the "five o'clock follies," during the war.

Motorbike parade. Every day.
Photo: Desiree Koh

In an ironic twist, we happened to arrive on the exact anniversary of Reunification Day, aka the Fall of Saigon, when the Communist tanks stormed the iron gates of the Reunification Palace and essentially kicked out the Americans.

Presidential Receiving Room @ Reunification Palace
Photo: Desiree Koh

So the story goes: after the tanks crashed through the gates of the palace, a Viet Cong soldier ran to the fourth floor balcony and flew the flag for all to see. The South Vietnamese government awaited the VC in the second-floor presidential receiving room, where they greeted the VC officers with, "I have been waiting since early this morning to transfer power to you." VC replied: "You cannot give up what you do not have." The palace is eerie. It looks nearly identical to how it looked on that day. They haven't changed much but to put up some glass walls and entrance ropes.

Infinitely more eerie was the War Remnants Museum, formerly known as the Museum of Chinese and American War Crimes. There was little new information per se, but what was astonishing was seeing it from a very different perspective. There were photos, stories and exhibits you wouldn't see in the States, for various reasons. We came face to face with the atrocities from that war ... the My Lai massacre, Agent Orange, torture, destroyed villages ... haunting images. Our favorite part was the Requiem Exhibition, which includes a collection of striking photos from war photographers from around the world, as well as feature stories and insights on their lives, deaths and experience.

A sampan ride. Heaven.
Photo: Desiree Koh

We spent three full days in Vietnam, including a Sunday day trip to the tunnels of Cu Chi, 250km of intricate tunnels the VC dug and used to harass the Americans and South Vietnamese for years, undetected.

We then floated along the islands of the Mekong River. A very worthwhile jaunt, with the highlight being the time we spent island hopping with our private guide. We schlepped through a remote tropical forest, sampling various tropical fruits from the trees. We then had tea and more fruit at the home of a local family (who owned the trees we were enjoying!).

Des took amazing photos -- the best way to see our experience.

Banh mi. THE best sandwich. Des' obsession.
Photo: Desiree Koh

Our first bowl of pho. You know I'm already obsessed.
Photo: Desiree Koh

Prayer. Notre Dame.
Photo: Desiree Koh

Nerds.
Photo: Desiree Koh

Funny Signs 4

Hallway to toilets at Oskar bar on Soi 11, Bangkok, April 2011.

The bathroom humor in Bangkok continues.

Funny Signs 3



Family restaurant near the river. Bangkok. April 2011.

 Beware of the door? Men, don't barge in on women while they are loo-ing?? Not sure. So I turned to Facebook for an explanation.

When you see a hot lady walk by, bang your head?  -- Carla

Warning, peeping toms frequent this toilet? -- Lisa DM

Should we even ask what he's ducking to avoid getting hit by? -- Mike

Midnight Feast in Bangkok

Midnight feast. Fried spring roll. Basil chicken. Thai beef salad.
Rembrandt Hotel. Bangkok, April 2011.

Upon arrival at hotel (Rembrandt Hotel in Sukhimvit area of Bangkok), we immediately fall into a late-night Thai supper. Shoveling tasty Thai specialties (how do they get that perfect combination of spicy, salty, sour and sweet?) as we scan our maps and guidebooks, with a cold Thai Chang beer to wash it down, we could not be more content on our first night in this gritty city.

Girls Will Be Girls

Amy -- we have a present for you. Happy one-year Singa-versary!



Classy night begins with dinner at Krish. Continues with us
stealing shopping cart and broom outside restaurant.
And transporting it in Des' Mystery Van to Club Street,
where it serves as installation art for weeks.



Funny Signs Part 2



Outside hawker center in Joo Chiat



Funny Signs

Outside Butter Factory, a seemingly
teeny bopper dance club

Weekend Getaway: Sounds of Bali

Wheels Up -- SIN -- DPS, Air Asia

March 13, 2011:  I sit in bed after a long first day in Bali, with the sounds of a frisky frog chorus resounding outside. These are not your “ribbit, ribbit” frogs. Nope. This chorus sounds like something I’d here bumping with a heavy bass beat from Filter or Underground on a Saturday night. These frogs sounds like they are beat-boxing to save their lives. A few sound like strumming banjos. And there seems to be one particularly vocal one that strives to mimic a drunk duck.

I’ve returned to Bali for a second time since my arrival in Singapore in September. With all the places yet to see, you may find it strange I’ve already repeat-ed. But, this is a very different Balinese experience than my first visit in November with Louis.

Master bedroom @ Villa Hibiscus in Tanjong Benoa.
Booked through Balivillas.com

This time, I’ve brought my parents, who have traveled 25+ hours to visit me and see a bit of where I live. I like Singapore, but I want my guests to see more of Asia.

Bali seems to fascinate everyone – a lush, dramatic landscape filled with Hindu tradition, teak wood, suckling pig, Balinese that have nailed hospitality, and luxurious villas. It conjures up memories of the exotic paradise and the haunting Bali Hai melody from South Pacific.

We arrived on Sunday evening via Air Asia (good – I recommend, along with JetStar for in-Asia trips) and are met by our driver, an affable man who was born in Bali and never left. We fall into a clean air-conditioned Toyota and I brace myself for infamously inefficient Bali traffic. Last time, I headed southwest to Pan Pacific Nirwana Bali near Tanah Lot temple; this time, we head southeast to our villa in Tanjung Benoa near Nusa Dua.

Our staff

This villa experience is new for us. Balivillas.com was recommended by a friend, so I had booked a two bedroom villa that comes with a driver/car, butler, cook and dedicated house staff.






Balinese grilled chicken -- yum!



We arrive at Villa Hibiscus within a half hour or so (phew) and are greeted by our staff. The villa is breathtaking. Within the stone walled compound is a master bedroom with open air bathroom, along with a second bed and bath above. We continue to the private pool and open air living and dining space. The chef is busy at work preparing siap mepanggang (super tasty and moist grilled chicken), steamed rice and fresh fruit – a simple yet very tasty meal after our afternoon of travel. A soothing Balinese instrumental mix plays on the speakers. Those damn albino geckos dart around us (though, I have made peace with them).

We clink our glasses of local sparkling rose and enjoy our first home-cooked Balinese meal.





Open Air Living Space, Kitchen in the Background

 




Dad taking a dip post-dinner in the private plunge pool

 

Mom and I. Reasoning that, if we wear hats, the geckos won't fall on our heads from above.
Smart reasoning after a few glasses
of sparkling rose.



Favorite Foods: Vietnamese Pho

Sweet, spicy and delicious pho bo.
Photo courtesy of Wikipedia, because I'm too busy devouring
my pho to take a photo.

One of the key advantages of living in Singapore is ready access to an infinite variety of Asian cuisines.

Yes, Chicago and other major U.S. cities have go-to options for Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Indian and Thai. But, living in Singapore means you have access to not only "Chinese" but Cantonese, Sichuan, Hokkien, Shanghainese, etc., for example.

Same goes for Vietnamese. Louis and I paid many a visit to Chicago's Viet-Town on Argyle Street for pho ga, bahn mi and vermicelli noodle soups. Not bad. In Singapore, one of my top meals: pho bo at Viet-Inn in Boat Quay.

What is pho? It is a Vietnamese noodle soup served with beef (phở bò), though I also like the pho with chicken (phở gà). Made from rice noodles, a richly complex and flavorful broth, and topped with heaping handfuls of bean sprouts, Thai basil, cilantro, mint, fresh lime and chili padi, it is the ultimate comfort food. Some places serve it also with tendon, tripe, meatballs, chicken, organs, or tendons.  

Typical garnish -- bean sprouts, chili, basil/mint/cilantro,
lime. I like mine with LOTS of chopped chili.
Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

The best part is the broth. It is, simply, a beef broth, but unlike beef broth you buy in a U.S. grocery store or eat with French onion soup. This broth smells mysteriously sweet, spiced and herbal,  and typically is made with cinnamon, star anise, fresh ginger, cardamom, coriander seed, fennel seed, clove and who knows what else. 

It's just delicious.

I've booked my first trip to Vietnam -- Saigon, over the Singapore Labour Day holiday -- and can't wait to sample as much pho as possible.

More to come.

Lost in Translation: Names

In the span of 29 minutes, I have been referred to as Ms. Dettloff, Mr. Dettloff and Valerie. In one email exchange with the same person. During which I sign MY emails as "Lauren."

The exotic “laowai”

A casual stroll through T Square before dinner;
Mao mausoleum in the background

Laowai, 老外), is a commonly-used term that in everyday spoken Chinese refers to Caucasians. It’s thought to be a neutral term, though early ex-pats in China thought it was meant to be derogatory. The government mouthpieces in China actually launched what I would call a PR campaign to educate readers on the correct usage and appease foreigners that it’s not meant as an insult in anyway.

Now, if you’re being called Gwailo (鬼佬), that could be a different story. Gwailo is a slang term for foreigners used by the Cantonese and has more historical connotation as deprecatory. Though, here too, it can depend on the speaker. Some may be using it as a synonym for laowai; others, if adding the adjective sei (死, meaning dead or damned) or as a prefix. seigwailo (死鬼佬), well, they may not be so nice.

Traveling as a laowai in Beijing generally has few negatives. In fact, some moments are downright comical. I’m sitting at the airport having just bypassed a long line of people waiting to show boarding passes at first check-in point. I queued up like a good traveler, and then for some inexplicable reason, the guard just waved me forward. This happened on my last visit too. No one fussed.

While going through security, something in my bag must have raised a question because a guard took it from the belt and asked (i think) “Who’s is this?” When I raised my hand, he just nodded, didn’t even look at it, and gave it to me. Odd.

While entering Tiananmen Square yesterday afternoon, I encountered security checks at entrances (not sure if this is normal practice or a special situation given many countries are taking precaution against Egypt-style uprisings), and was simply waved through. I even started to put my purse through the scanner and the guard just gave it back.

I’m not sure as to the causes of this.

a folk art display outside T Square for Spring Festival

A charming moment occurred when I was walking through the square. A Chinese tourist gripped my arm, smiled endearingly and gestured that she wanted me to pose for a picture with her small daughter. (I had heard similar stories from friends, Mother, so i knew this wasn’t some distracting ploy so they could rifle my pockets.) Kind of sweet.  

I’m keen to explore more of China and see how the attitudes toward foreigners changes.

French winter in the midst of Beijing

View of Maison Boulud upon entering walled compound

On this trip to Beijing, I wrapped up my meetings around 4 p.m. and quickly sped to the central area for some sightseeing (separate entry to follow) and dining. A good friend with a taste for fine French cuisine recommended I try Maison Boulud, Daniel Boulud’s Beijing outpost.

Yes, it’s odd to try classic French within a great Chinese food city like Beijing, but I promise I had my fill of local food, too. Plus, I’ll admit, I haven’t found that perfect French place in Singapore ... the one you go to for classic French recipes, dim and hushed ambience, polished service, leisurely pace and a feeling of wanting to linger for hours over multiple courses, wine and delicious pastries.

Maison Boulud is located just about as centrally as you can get. Right adjacent to Tiananmen Square (which is across the street from Forbidden City, national museum and other must-visits), it is set within a walled compound that used to be the American Embassy at one point. Grey stone buildings flank a small manicured courtyard, and you immediately feel a bit coddled.

Chesnut soup. yummy!

Inside, it feels like an old French mansion, with lots of wood, stone, rich carpeting and fabrics. To the left is a dimly lit, cozy bar area (where you could easily enjoy a meal, though beware, smoking is allowed) and to the right, the main dining area. I was unsure, when I made the booking, whether it was the type of place where I would feel comfortable dining alone in the main dining room; it actually was ideal. It isnt a crowded space and I was seated along the perimeter facing in, flanked by a trio on either side. It is a good place to have a business dinner, romantic date or just dine solo. Even with the large parties and 75 percent capacity, it remained pleasantly abuzz yet relaxed.

Nicolas, the French host, was graciously attentive, welcoming me, ensuring I was comfortable with the table, asked if I would like a magazine or newspaper, and invited me to stay as long as I want, enjoy a book, etc. Very warm French welcome!

The food was just what I wanted after a long week and a couple hours of walking around in the brisk Beijing winter air. Chestnut soup to start, which was preceded by a lovely trio of cheese amuse bouche; duck confit as my main, though the chef sent out his famous black cod poached in olive oil for me to try, which was delicious though practically filled me up; dark chocolate souffle on Nicolas’ recommendation, which to my surprise (and full tummy’s near-horror) was accompanied by tastings of their homemade marshmallow, macaroons, madeleines and brioche.

Gracious Nicolas gave me his card and the contact info of his counterpart at Boulud's Singapore outpost, for when we need a table or anything else. Will definitely be paying a visit to DB Bistro Moderne again soon, and I recommend checking out Maison Boulud in Beijing.

Turning 30 in Singapore

Officially 30 but Mentally 20.
Perhaps 10 in this Photo

I'll admit, I was mildly depressed in the weeks leading up to my birthday. Not at the prospect of turning 30 (I think 30 is a great age), but at the thought of celebrating a milestone birthday in a "strange" place, away from family and friends.

But three things changed my mindset:

1. How COOL to celebrate one's birthday in a new place, especially a foreign country halfway around the world from home.
2. Louis is coming! He booked a trip especially to celebrate with me.
3. I have fabulous friends here, so what a great opportunity to get a group together for good drinks, laughter and the usual silly conversation.

With the ever-fabulous Chi and Arwen @ eM

We ended up at eM on Saturday night, a chill Euro-style bar right on the river. Lychee martinis seemed to be the drink of choice, although the guys opted to become friendly with whiskey, scotch, vodka and gin instead.

It was a fun night where friends from certain groups met friends from other groups (and got along great -- success!), all friends got to spend time/meet Louis. The ladies looked hot in their fabulous party dresses. Strangely, we all seemed to match.

With Chi, Arwen, Des and Lindsay

Preceding dinner was at La Villa, a favorite relaxing Italian place with to-die-for funghi pizza (mushrooms, truffle, ham, cheese, egg), hot sauce, montepulciano and truffle risotto. Proceeding snack was McDonald's delivery (don't judge).

Other festive moments that week included a romantic dinner with Louis at our favorite French cafe, L'Carillon de L'Angelus near Club Street (sancerre, escargot, charcuterie) on Monday, thin-crust pizza, mussels and frites at a French place west of the downtown, lunch with Louis and work mate Wendy at Pho 99, and other fun things.

Cheers! Darling.

Cheers to a great new decade of experience.



Charcuterie, wine, escargot
@ L'Carillon



  



Lookin' 30-something, together :)



Birthday dinner at "our" place -- La Villa --
w PPO Preet!




With Preeti, Daniele and Jude




With Preeti and Aras. Don't ask.
Because I just don't know.





It's the small stuff that'll kill ya ...

When people ask, how do you like living abroad, I give a balanced answer.

Living abroad certainly broadens your horizon, enables you to really learn other cultures, to travel, to develop professionally, to challenge yourself personally ... all of these things are wonderful and why I chose to do it.

But sometimes, it's the day-to-day things that aim to kill you. Some legitimately could. Others are almost comical in their aspirations to kick your ass.

Case in point -- today, I couldn't get into my damn apartment. The keycard (similar to those obnoxiously fickle hotel keycards that never cease to de-activate at the most inopportune times) just wouldn't work. A recreation appears below ... may god have mercy if you actually get to the end.

Enter Lauren, fresh and relaxed after a couple hours by the pool. She is tired, content, eager to shower and starving. She is dressed in a bikini and towel. Note this; this fact becomes important later.

She, having just successfully used her keycard to get in the elevator, inserts said keycard into her door. No click. She tries again. No click. Again. No click. This goes on for about three minutes.

The pace changes. The amount of pressure changes. She takes off her sunglasses to ensure she is in fact at the right unit. Yes, she is. Another two minutes passes.

Finally, she (thanking god she has her phone) calls the management office.

Office: Yes?
Lauren: Hi. It's Lauren in unit XYZ. For some reason, my keycard isn't working. Is there someone that can help?
Office: No.
Lauren: ...No?
Office (not rudely, just very matter of factly): There isn't anything we can do. Is there something you think we can do?
Lauren: Um...well, I'm not sure...
Office: Is this owner or tenant?
Lauren: Tenant.
Office: You have spare key?
Lauren: Yes. But it's at my office.
Office: You have to go get it, go get it.
Lauren: I'd prefer not to if possible, as I'm in a bathing suit. Is there another option?
Office: Here. You call keycard company. (provides number).

Just for fun, Lauren tries her game of trying to open the door for two more minutes. Nada. She dials keycard company.

Company: Yes.
Lauren: Hi. I'm calling from River Place and my keycard doesn't work.
Company (sounding very proud she is able to assist): Ok. We order you new one. It takes 4 to 6 months.
Lauren: Ok. Well, that unfortunately doesn't help me now. You see, I need to get in my unit within the next four months.
Company (bubble of pride deflated): Ohhh. Ok, lah. You call landlord for extra key?
Lauren: The landlord doesn't have an extra key.
Company: You have extra key?
Lauren: Yes. It's in my office all the way in CBD. It would be a huge inconvenience for me to go there now.
Company. Ohhh. Ok, lah. We order you new one.
Lauren: And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?
Company: You go get spare one.
Lauren: I can't do that. I'm in a bathing suit and towel.
Company (lightbulb going off): We can send locksmith. You have to pay, lah.
Lauren (all the while, inserting and re-inserting the cursed keycard): Ok. Let me call my agent to confirm and call you back.

Takes deep breath. Dials her agent, who is the Chinese Singaporean mother she never had.

Agent: Hello, Lauren?
Lauren: Hi Veronica. I'm sorry to have to bother you with this ... I'm locked out of my unit again. The keycard isn't working again.
Agent: Oh, no! But that happened before and they replaced lock.
Lauren: I recall.
Agent: And now it is happening again?
Lauren: Unfortunately yes.
Agent: That is inconvenient. Do you have your spare?
Lauren (slow breathing): Well, it's at my office but I'm trying to avoid going there, as I'm in a bathing suit and towel.
Agent: Oh, no. How annoying.
Lauren: Yes. Yes it is.
Agent: Ok. I call landlord's agent to see what we can do. Meantime, you call the management office and get their help.
Lauren: Tried that. She passed me to the keycard company. Keycard company said they'll order me new keys that will arrive in four to six months.
Agent: Oh, no. That's a very inconvenient process. You can't stand outside the door for that long. Call you right back. You stay there.
Lauren (not saying aloud but really wanting to): Where on earth would I go?

Just for the fun of it, she tries again. Nothing. A slew of creative swear words erupt. Another three minutes go by.

Phone rings.

Lauren: Hello?
Agent: Lauren. I just tried calling landlord's agent. No answer. I will try again and call you back.
Lauren: Ok.

Just for pure torture, she tries again. Nope. Another two minutes go by. There was probably more swearing. She begins to contemplate the real possibility that she will, in fact, have to somehow get to her office -- with no bus pass or money -- while clothed in a bikini, then how to get in the office without her office key -- which is inside the apartment.

Phone rings.

Lauren (remaining calm, remaining calm, remaining calm): Yes?
Strange man: Hello? You can't get in the apartment?
Lauren (please tell me this is not a junior reporter from the Straits Times): I'm sorry, who is this?
Strange man: I with keycard company. You can't get in?
Lauren: No. The keycard isn't working.
Keycard man: Ok. I teach you how to do it.
Lauren: Um. Ok.
Keycard man: You grab the handle. You turn it three to four times. Three to four times. Then you take your right hand ... or, you could turn the handle with right hand and take your left hand ...you insert key and hold it. Then pull toward you.
Lauren: Pull toward me? Why?
Keycard man: It sometimes works. You try. Turn three, turn three.
Lauren (tries this. Nothing.): It didn't work.
Keycard man: It didn't work? You try again. Turn three, turn three.
Lauren (tries again. Nothing. To spare you the pain of this continued saga, something, somehow, causes unbeknownst, prompts the door to open.)

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie ... oi, oi, oi!

After an abnormally rainy two days in Singapore -- non-stop downpour -- I have had enough. It is a Sunday afternoon, the Australian Open Men's Finals were on, and I decide it was time to try the Australian bar/restaurant across the river from me. It's always pleasantly crowded, and they show Australian and English sports (cricket world cup coming up!) and, oddly, NBA basketball.

Figuring it's a very casual bar, I mosey over in work out clothes, with no make-up and after a perfunctory shower. Oops. The place is packed. There are NO seats in sight, but plenty of drunk Aussie and British men offering a seat at their table. I pass (again -- gym clothes and no make up), as fortunately, the hostess has a table in the back that isn't booked for another two hours. Score.

The menu is making my mouth water, as I haven't really eaten since breakfast: fish and chips, Cajun salmon, various kinds of pizza.

I pondered what beer pairs well with "peppered kangaroo loin". Clueless, I opted instead for a wagyu beef burger with bacon and egg. Makes up for not having breakfast.

Aussies are a fun group. They are packed into this open air restaurant/bar, relentlessly cheering on Andy Murray (who incidentally, I learned I was NOT cheering for, per my friend Des).

My Pure Blonde pint and wagyu beef burger made me quite content. Two pints land a glass of rose later...perhaps a bit over-kill. Fortunately i wasn't drinking alone, as Arwen (a non-elvish one) joined me for the last game or two.

Non-Andy Murray won (yay!)

Entente cordiale with geckos and snails

As tensions rise between important countries around the world, I'm pleased to report good news in Singapore. Ceasefire has been declared between me and certain tropical creatures of prey. Roaches, particularly large, flying ones that harass my friends -- you still need to be wary.

I have a friendly relationship with the snails that slither around my garden and pool area. Perhaps because they move slowly and don't come in the house.

I often try to save them from being stepped on but they don't let me pick them up.

This one is big!

I also have achieved peaceful relations with the geckos, as they are easier to deal with than the large, stubborn iguanas we encountered in Mexico.

I'm contemplating adding crows to the enemy list, as they've started landing on my window sill -- when the window is open with no screens, which creates a potentially volatile situation.