Rampant in London

Tuesday, 25 Dec - Heading Home

2007-12-27T03:09:00.000Z

The journey back to Singapore wasn’t difficult at all. I was laden with goodies from London, but the entire public transport system in the city on Christmas Day had been shut down. Coming to the rescue, however, was the good chap GNK+1 in his trusty Vauxhall, providing me a lift straight from SSG and HM’s Shad Thames apartment to Heathrow Airport Terminal Three. HM was also nice enough to come along for the ride, and to send me off personally.

There I breezed through customs and the security checks, helped by the Fast Track process which I was entitled to, as I had managed earlier to upgrade myself onto a Business Class seat on the Singapore Airlines flight back home. Yeah!!! The Silver Kris lounge offered a nice respite before boarding, and when I stepped onto the upper desk of the 747, flying heaven awaited me. Visions of beauty slinking around in dark kebayas, offering me wine and more......I couldn't get enough of it all.

I awoke earlier that morning with the sound of the front door opening. It was good ol' BP, who had just flown in on a red eye flight from New York, where the lucky bugger is spending his second year of studies. He’s gonna be in London from Christmas till New Year’s Day, taking over the couch and living room that I had sorta called my own for the past week. It sure was good meeting up with him, even if for that half day, over breakfast and then over a turkey pasta lunch, rekindling memories of time in Goodenough College and of jaunts across Scandinavia just this past summer.

But now I’m back in Singapore, and back to the grind of work. Is there and can there be such a thing as instant nostalgia? I have nothing but the loveliest and warmest memories of this past week, and already, I’m thinking fondly back to my first day, not so long ago, when it was me who trundled into the Shad Thames apartment early in the morning, greeting a bleary eyed and sleep deprived HM…

I must have said it before, but I’ll say it again - this has been a most amazing week in London. I was glad I returned. I feel entirely comfortable and at ease in this city, but what has made it special were the many moments spent with close and dear friends, some of whom I may not see for some time yet. I’m very very grateful to the SSG and to the HM for letting me stay with them, for their time, for their company, for everything – especially their friendship.

And so, it’s time, again, to suspend Rampant in London, for I am now, once more, Subdued in Singapore. I know of no other city – apart from my hometown – which has managed to excite me so much, and which has offered me so much. When I was there, I didn’t feel as though I had been away. I felt I was home – a second home, as it were. I don’t know when I will be back. But back I will surely be, soon...

Monday, 24 Dec - On Christmas Eve

2007-12-25T16:15:00.000Z

After five frenetic days, I finally slowed things down on Monday, but just slightly. The fog had cleared on this Christmas Eve morning, as I started the day late, lingering around, partaking in some of the beef casserole which HM was preparing in advance for our big dinner later on.

We then went out after lunch for some grocery shopping, followed by a stop at the Starbucks next to Tower Bridge, where I had another cup of chai latte. It was a drink to which I was introduced only this past year in London, and copious amounts had passed through my system since. I recall saying to friends back home, as I was about to leave for this trip, that I’d be eagerly looking forward to another cup of chai latte.

“Don’t they serve chai lattes in Singapore too?” asked one of them.

“To be honest, I don’t really know,” I replied.

For it was only then that I realized that I never even looked out for this drink when visiting the local Starbucks joints, settling back instead for my usual double lattes or mocha frappuccino. The chai latte has become for me, curiously enough, an entirely London drink, best consumed with friends.

HM soon returned to the apartment to continue preparations for the dinner, while I headed to High Street Kensington to meet Russia, whose office was located nearby. We then took the Tube to Hyde Park, to the Winter Wonderland Christmas market. It looked lovely, with an ice rink, ferris wheel, and lots of happy people. The only thing missing was snow. Indeed, yesterday turned out to be one of the mildest day since I arrived in London.

I had wanted to try ice skating, but there were no tickets available. Russia and I then headed up the ferris wheel, getting a good view of the city. This ain’t no London Eye, but the experience was pleasant nonetheless. I was conscious that a scrumptious feast was awaiting me back home, but greedy pig that I am, I couldn’t resist sharing a few dishes with her – rum balls, a wurst, fried potatoes, and poffertjes, a type of delicious Dutch pancakes.

Doubling back to Shad Thames, I joined the many commuters returning home this Christmas Eve evening, and reached “home” just after eight pm, in time to join HM, SSG,GNK+1, his Other Half, plus another friend of SSG’s in a most lovely and filling Christmas dinner.

We pulled Christmas crackers, played yuletide music, carved the turkey, imbibed the wine, exchanged presents, and generally had a good time, although at one point I felt as if I was really about to burst. We ended by just slouching around the sofa watching Love Actually on DVD. I can, and have critiqued it on a sociological level. But this wasn’t time to play Scrooge. It’s a very touching film, and it made me think of certain other thoughts as well...

I know I’ve had a very good time this past week. I felt right from Day One that I didn’t wish to return to Singapore. But I know I have to. That is where my life is, right now. London represents so many things for me. It is a metaphor for feasting, for friendship, for fantasy. London will continue to be in my future. But London is also now part of my past. There are things awaiting me in Singapore, which I treasure greatly. I shall be back soon.

Sunday, 23 Dec - Serene and Spiritual

2007-12-25T02:23:00.001Z

The days just keep getting better. And Sunday was truly lovely. It shall be one of those days which I shall remember forever, replete with activity and significance, even though it was shrouded, ironically, in a cloud of fog.

That’s right. We woke up to a blanket of thick, white fog covering the whole of London. Peering out of the window at HM and SSG’s, I couldn’t see even across the carpark to the buildings on the other side. And when HM and I emerged to head to the Tate Britain, it was a truly surreal and atmospheric sight which greeted us outside.

Tower Bridge, surely one of London’s most iconic structures, was cloaked in dense fog, and standing at one end of the bridge, we could even discern the shape of the Tower of London across the river. All these tourists on top of the bridge, cameras at the ready. Are they disappointed, or are they happy? London has a cliché for being cold, foggy and dreary, but such a day comes only very rarely.

We were at the Tate Britain for a special retrospective exhibition of the works of John Everett Millais, the great British Pre-Raphaelite artist. He’s the fellow behind such stunningly beautiful paintings as Ophelia and Mariana, with their fine, precise detail and lively colours. Incredibly, both works were executed in the early part of his career, and we were able to see the evolution of his style, including the many portrayals of ordinary couples living through extraordinary times.

Stepping out of the museum, HM and I took a bus to the Strand, where we had a quick lunch, before heading back to the Tower Hill station, and back home to link up with SSG. Our next destination? The Sunday carol service at St Paul’s Cathedral. It all seems pretty pedestrian, and I don’t know how best to describe the next couple of hours – how totally amazing it was – how best to convey what I saw, what I heard, what I experienced. But let’s try anyway….

So, I had come to London determined to do a few Christmasy things, like attending a pantomime performance, touring a Christmas market, and also going for a church carol service. HM and I were discussing things online before I arrived, and we settled on the St Paul’s service on Sunday. At the same time, I was planning to meet “Russia”, one of my dearest friends from UCL.

By a wonderful stroke of coincidence, we had arranged also to meet on Sunday, and she told be that she’d be working at St Paul’s that afternoon, where she had been temping for some time over the past few months. “I’ll be attending the carol service that afternoon, and can meet you afterwards,” I recall myself saying to her.

What I didn’t know was how wildly packed and popular the service was going to me. Russia gave me a call earlier in the day, and offered to secure us some seats inside the cathedral. And that was what the lovely girl really did! We arrived at St Paul’s, bypassed the long queue amassed outside, and went inside through the North Transept instead.

Inside, it was already almost full house, but Russia had “unofficially” secured three fantastic seats for us which a direct view of the Quire and Dome Sanctuary. I have no idea how she did it. Mere words cannot convey how absolutely grateful we were for her efforts, and what followed was a most enriching carol service.

The music was good, the setting was perfect, and the sermon sounded like a sociological thesis. But you really have to credit the weather as well. In churches back home, especially those which aren't air conditioned, you’d be sweating, surrounded by people clad in tee shirts. Here, even with thousands gathered inside the cathedral, everyone was close to shivering, lending a most Christmasy mood to the service. And when we exited, the wintry sun had already set, and St Paul’s was encased in the still present thick night fog, conveying a most Dickensian atmosphere.

SSG, HM and I emerged, feeling very appreciative and privileged, and went nearby for tea and minced pies at the imaginatively named tea, located in the shadows of the cathedral. Shortly after, Russia finished her shift and was able to join us for a brief moment. HM and SSG really took to her, and we all had a good chat, before I left with Russia for our planned dinner.

London at this hour was dark, cold and foggy, but I was feeling all nice and warm inside, happy to be with a close friend from the city. We crossed the Thames on the Millennium Footbridge, towards the Tate Modern, cutting through the fog, and then settled down at the Founders Arms pub along the riverside for a nice Sunday dinner.

It was lovely catching up with Russia. We had lots to talk about. She updated me on her life, and I updated her on mine. She told me she was considering making a trip to Singapore in March next year, which would be absolutely delightful. True friendship surely transcends space and time. But come on. It’s still good to meet as often as one can : )

After bidding goodbye to Russia, I took a train to Canada Water station in the Surrey Quays areas, and was then picked up by GNK+1 and HM. We headed back to his place, where his Other Half and SSG had already gathered. They’ve got a lovely apartment, set in an area of London which looks totally unlike the rest of the city. The developments there are very new, looking more like an American suburb than the ancient city that is London.

GNK+1 and his Other Half are proud owners of two guinea pigs, Bubble and Squeak, which I had great fun playing with. I remembered fondly my own two guinea pigs – may they rest in peace – from my days in the US, Millie and Caramel. Bubble and Squeak is actually the name of a British dish, but I had to not think of these two lovely sister animals as food. One was brown, and the other a lovely shade of grey, with a white crest tuff on top of her head.

We hung around till past midnight, talking cock, and even doing boh liao things like throwing a little toy rugby ball around the living room. Now I know who among my friends can catch, and who has absolute butter fingers. Heh. It was a truly great day, and already, I know I shall return home to look back fondly upon moment such as these.

Saturday, 22 Dec - Onwards to Oxford

2007-12-23T00:42:00.000Z

I’ve already done so much these past few days, and yet there was more today to do! One place which I missed out on visiting when I was last in the UK was Oxford, city of dreaming spires. The town and the famous university that’s located there occupies such an important position in British history, and can be reached in less than two hours from London. And thanks to my dear friends here – HM, SSG, GNK+1 and his Other Half – I was able finally to visit Oxford today, being ferried on board SSG’s Hansum, her Audi A4, and guided by Jane, her calm and redoubtable GPS system.

We reached there in the late morning, shivering under a gloomy cloudy day, after having emerged from one of the most modern vehicle rest stop areas located just outside the city, where we had a heavy BK breakfast. Burgers and fries in the morning? I guess there’s always a first for everything. Also, strangely enough, I am a true rest area connoisseur, and I must say that after having come across so many dark and seedy facilities both in the UK and other countries, this one was truly, remarkably impressive.

We had time barely to walk for about a half hour around town, before leaving for the Oxford Retreat pub for lunch. Bangers and mash for me, washed down by a pint of Diet Coke, as usual, and then a cup of brewed coffee. At this point, I could already feel the stomach complaining, but I decided to overrule it.

OK lah. The afternoon was spent on some real culture and history. We toured the famous Christ Church College, walked past the striking Radcliffe Camera, the Sheldonian Theatre, and the evocative Bridge of Sighs. We ended the day by touring the famous Ashmolean Museum, home to treasures ranging from classical antiquities to 19th century European visual arts.

This was certainly one of the most welcoming institutions I’ve been to. Free admission, a well stocked gift shop, and a very liberal camera policy. I was able to capture some images of a few lovely French impressionist masterpieces, but alas, without the right software, I’m not able to down load them onto this laptop for now.

We returned to London amidst a slight drizzle and headed back to the Primrose Hill area again for dinner. This time round, welcoming us was Lemonia, a noisy Greek-themed restaurant, where I came close to eating until I burst, which is something best not done in polite company. I had the tavva dish, comprising lamb cubes accompanied by onion, gravy and rice. But the rest had ordered a mezze set, which came with cold starters, warm starters, and then servings of mains – available for everyone around the table to share.

I think there’s a physical limit to how much more I could take in, and while I sat there there, fused to the seat, impressed by the bottomless pit that is GNK+1’s Other Half (and I meant that in a most affectionate and endearing way), I decided to toss in the towel, and dream instead of lingering on the sofa at HM and SSG’s later on, with a glass of chilled wine in hand. I can’t get these experiences in Singapore. I really need to think about when I can next return to London.

Friday, 21 Dec - The Winter Solstice

2007-12-21T22:58:00.000Z

My life in London had been characterized by lots of eating, drinking, feasting, swigging, munching, gobbling, gulping, and all round burping. And I was determined this time round to reprise my achievements of the year past. The mission still remains the same: to eat my way through this city, no matter how long it takes.

I had stayed up a bit too late last evening, finishing the bottle of Fettercairn. [Mmmmm….the wonders of whiskey...] Woke up in a great haste and rushed out to meet “Manchester”, a dear friend from UCL. We got together at Cubana near Waterloo station, where we had last met. The pollo crillo was totally yummy – grilled chicken, black bean rice and fried plantain, washed down with two glasses of diet coke and two cups of coffee. How did I manage to fit it all in?

But what was more fulfilling was the chance to meet up with one of my bestest friends from class. We managed to update each other on gossip, intrigue and intelligence. Images of the different people in our group started popping into my mind. It hardly feels as though I had been away from London for three months, or that I was only in town temporarily.

That’s been how it’s been. I don’t feel like a tourist in a new place. I feel as if I’ve returned home, to a place I feel entirely at east in, with places familiar and people dear to me. But right now, I have no idea when I shall next see her, and much as I continue to pester her to make a trip to Singapore, I know that the more likely scenario for our next meeting – whenever that might be – will see me coming back to London again.

But a separation of time and distance doesn’t mean that we cease being friends, and I know we will remain friends if we try hard enough. Later in the afternoon, after we had said goodbye, Manchester actually left me a very sweet text message, which certainly made this trip back to London all the more worthwhile.

From Waterloo, I took a Tube ride to Rotherhithe, where I linked up with HM and GNK+1. We then made a short drive to Greenwich, where I checked out what was purportedly a Christmas market, but I was distinctly unimpressed by the offerings I found. We moved instead to George of Greenwich, a simply most lovely coffee hangout, where the three of us lingered on a settee, with coffee and cake in front of us.

Outside, the sun on this winter solstice day was steadily setting, with the temperatures hovering only a few degrees above freezing, and a steady fog moving in. The throngs of passers by shuffling past, the lights of the cars whizzing by, while inside, we had a good time chatting and talking cock. This was what I had come to London for – an experience not to be had in Singapore. It was absolutely lovely.

We left and then drove half way across the city to pick up GNK+1’s other half, and then headed to the posh Primerose Hill area, home to the city celebrities and other assorted hanger ons. We found ourselves soon at the Engineer pub, where I feasted on a very well prepared roast duck breast with dauphinoise potatoes, sour cherry and port jus. Man, this wasn’t just some routine pub grub. These gastropubs now serve top-notched cuisine, which can better a lot of what mainstream restaurants dish out. The Lansdowne was another of their Primrose Hill favourites, but alas, I'll have to visit it some other time.

Now it’s time to look forward to the next few days. More food to eat, more friends to meet, more memories of London to revive. But for tonight, it's time for some good wine.

Thursday, 20 Dec - London Redux

2007-12-21T00:59:00.000Z

Arrrrgh! I brought my trusted Canon digital SLR over to London, but for reasons too tedious to go into, I can’t download them onto this laptop I’m using. So there will be no images. Right now, words and words alone will be what I can use to describe this episode of London Redux.

Day Two has been a most enriching day, taking me to places old and places new. The sun was strong, but the day was cold. Really really cold. It started off with me heading up the London Eye with HM, getting a panoramic view of the city in bright but smoggy skies, after which I just had to return to Queenway – to my favourite dim sum restaurant at Royal China. There, I attacked the assorted har gaos, siew mais, cheong funs and dan tarts with great gusto, accompanied by cups upon cups of Chinese tea.

After a post-lunch latte nearby, we set forth across the city to the Barbican, checking out the Seduced exhibition, which proved more cerebral than what I had expected. The private lives of the ancient civilizations, and what members used to get up to. Heh. But nehmind lah.

Later on, I headed up to the Hackney area for the first time – to the Hackney Empire for a pantomime performance. It was a performance of Dick Whittington, complete with his famous cat. I had often heard of traditional Christmastime pantomimes, but never had the good fortune of watching one.

"Hiya Hackney!", the girl playing Dick would go, beaming to the audience.

"Hiya Dick!", we'd all respond, loudly and exuberantly.

What great fun. All the elements were there: the bawdy jokes, the risqué humour, the pantomime horse, the cross dressing, and the breaking of the fourth wall, with stage performers addressing audience members directly. The jokes were simply awful and corny, but much of the music was good, but alas, we had to leave before the show was over.

For we had a late dinner appointment to keep, which was transformed into a nice and simple meal of Vietnamese noodles at the Royal Margin, which I had visited before. I’m writing this now back at SSG’s place, a bottle of Fettercairn whiskey open before me, thinking that even though I have a few more days left in this city, I should really plan my next trip to London soon.

Wednesday, 19 Dec - The Return of Rampant

2007-12-20T09:19:00.000Z

Yes, I know I said in my previous posting that this blog would be shut down, following my return to Singapore after the wonderful year away in London. But guess what? I’m now back in the city! Rampant has returned to London, not for a year, alas, but for a good week of holidays leading up to Christmas. And what better reason could there be for this temporary return to blogging?

The past couple of months had been characterized by lots of work, amidst lots of fond memories of the previous twelve months away from Singapore. Something which I missed in particular was the chance to hang out with my London gang, but we had a semblance of that earlier in December, when SSG, GNK, DH and I headed up to Malacca to link up with Swinger on our great Malacca Makan Mission, where the objective was to Eat Until Burst, and then to Eat Some More.

Coming into London on an overnight flight, I thought warmly of times gone by, and felt a sense of a homecoming as I walked through Heathrow. It was a nondescript flight, with the inevitable screaming baby, and I left the aircraft feeling exhausted but excited. The airport’s as crappy as ever, but it was a place I’ve become familiar with.

I’ve also become well acquainted with the good old London Tube, and it was up to its usual good old self, breaking down when I was at Acton Town on the Piccadilly Line, less than a half hour into the 75 minute ride into town. We all shuffled out, whereupon I made by way across the platform for the District Line to Tower Hill.

This time round, I’ll be spending my evenings not at Goodenough College, but with SSG and HM at their lovely apartment south of the Thames, a short hop and a stroll away from the iconic Tower Bridge. It feels great to be back, as it was here where I spent my second last evening in London before leaving for Singapore in September, and into which I had helped the SSG move.

I knocked on their door only just after the late winter sun had risen, with both ladies still snoring away in bed. OK, I made that last bit up, but I did feel kinda bad arriving so early. But the entire day lay ahead. Sleep would have to come later.

After a nice breakfast of scones and cake, the three of us chatted merrily for a while before a very reluctant SSG left for work. HM and I then jaunted off to the nearby Starbucks for a cup of steaming chai latte. It’s been a very cold winter in London so far, with daytime temperatures at only about 5 degrees. But that’s not gonna stop me from venturing around. We sauntered off to the nearby Hays Galleria, past a German-style Christmas market, before repairing home for a nice homemade pasta and chicken lunch.

Later in the afternoon, Bus 188 then took me and HM back to our old haunt at the Russell Square area, where I proceed to visit the local Waterstones, pop into my old university gift shop for some hot UCL gear, and then a nostalgic journey back to the Brunswick, with the inviting Waitrose and other outlets. Dinner was at the Hare and Tortoise…BackPain’s Janet wasn’t there anymore, but I had gone there for the Penang Prawn Mee lah.

Spent the evening watching Spamalot at the Palace Theatre along Shaftesbury Avenue. What rollicking good fun. I think I’ve never come across any musical with a less coherent plot than this one. All the Monty Pythonesque elements of the surreal were there, including the giant foot – something lost on anyone who’s not familiar with this classic act. I can’t say I came away with any memorable tune stuck in my head, but what I do know is that I had a thoroughly enjoyable time. It was campy and corny, but I never claimed to be atas in taste.

This return visit to London has been absolutely lovely. I feel a curious mix of sentiments. There’s the comfortable contentment of returning to somewhere I’m familiar with. At the same time, there’s a decided sense of excitement at being, once again, with close friends in a most remarkable city, where I spent some of my happiest days. I’ve lined up a packed schedule of stuff to do, places to visit, people to meet, and things to eat. Yes, Rampant is back in London : )

The Last Word

2007-09-27T14:17:00.000Z

And so it's time now to shut down Rampant in London. I'm not planning to delete the blog; it will remain on-line - for as long as the good folks at Blogger.com are willing to continue hosting it. But with the studies now complete, my life in London has come to an end, and with that, so has the reason for writing this blog in the first place.

This has been a good ride. But it was never meant to be a permanent chronicle of my life. When I started it last September, I intended to use it as a means of documenting the main highlights of what promised to be an exciting year away from home. And what a great year it has proven to be : ) What a simply wonderful wonderful year. I could go on and on, recounting all that I did, but then everything's detailed in the 235 posts uploaded these past twelve months, including this final one.

What's clear is that I have learnt much, seen much, travelled much, and, most importantly, made many new and dear friends - a few of whom I hope to keep for life. They have made my one year in London so much more enriching and rewwarding, without whom the tone and tenor of my time there would have been very different.

When I last returned from living abroad, I had a broken back and was confined to a wheelchair and crutches. The transition this time round has been very different. I've now been back in Singapore for a week, settling back into life here with great ease, tucking into all my favourite dishes - the Radin Mas lor mee gets a special mention! - yet with the thoughts of London remaining absolutely fresh in my mind. And I hope they will stay this way.

Will I blog again? I don't know. I rather enjoyed all the writing. But can a life of drudgery and work in Singapore ever beat the blissful days in London? I doubt so. But if I do blog again, I'll certainly set up a fresh site, and inform everyone out there of the new URL.

For now, though, Dear Readers, thank you so much for your company this past year. Thanks for the comments and the interest in how I've been doing. But Rampant in London is now Subdued in Singapore. That's how it's gonna be, unfortunately. I wish it were otherwise. Yet what will remain, always, will be the warm memories, grateful thoughts of a fine, fulfilling year away....

Final Feasts

2007-09-19T13:51:00.000Z

The final few days in London were pretty frenetic. On Friday, we gathered for one last big pow-wow at Club SSG, featuring a fantastic culinary demonstration by the Celebrity Chef, who was on hand to deliver us an ultimate flourish, before hanging up his wok for good. OK…I was kidding. It’s only for the remaining time he has in London.

But what a wonderful meal we all had, feasting on his amazing Teochew porridge. SSG, GNK+1, his other half, and even SSG’s flat mate all had an opportunity to tuck into the scrumptious offerings. Good food, good wine, and good company. All the right ingredients were there. The only thing missing was the lup cheong. But I wouldn’t dare complain…

And things were only gonna get better. I left London the following morning on a rented Peugeot from Alamo and headed southwest to the beautiful county of Dorset, where a good friend from class had organized a party for the rest of us and a few other friends of hers. I expected something casual along the lines of the different events I had attended earlier in London.

But what I found upon arriving was another thing altogether. First, her country house was grand and luxurious to the extreme. There was a live band playing. And almost everyone was dressed up to the nines. Before long, we were seated out on her expansive lawn, under a marquee, and served with a proper three course dinner. Posh. Posh. Posh. And very English.

And as I sat there, looking at the bonfire burning further away on the lawn, breathing in the cool early autumn evening air, and sipping into the lovely red nectar, I knew that this was perhaps the best way with which I could end my stay in the UK. This, too, I guess, will be my penultimate post for this blog. For it is time, alas, to bid farewell to this one year of rampant activity...

Avenue Q

2007-09-13T23:57:00.001Z

This was a most funny and politically incorrect musical, which brought the whole house down to thunderous laughter and applause. I joined GNK+1 for the show, after the two of us feasted on a nice dinner of duck and more at the Four Seasons on Gerard Street in Chinatown, and couldn't wait to hear great hits such as The Internet Is For Porn and others. This wasn't one of the more sublime or monumental West End productions, but who cares, for the exceeding silliness of it all more than provided good entertainment for an evening. The resemblance to the various Sesame Street characters were less than subtle. I would imagine that there was no official cooperation extended.

So that's it then, as far as musicals in London are concerned. Attendances at other shows will have to come during my future visits to this city. And let's hope one takes place soon. I have so much more to do here.

The Farewells

2007-09-12T23:24:00.001Z

I met up this evening with my old friend DB for the third time since I came to London. His wedding provided the reason for my visit to Barcelona last year, and we got together again later in January this year. Over beer and grub at the Drayton Arms in South Kensington, close to his flat, we reminisced about the past. It’s actually been twelve years since we first met in Germany, and he’s spent virtually all of his time since in London, leading a very different life.

I guess one of the more remarkable things he said that was I was probably one of the few friends at his wedding who dated from those Germany days, as he has lost touch since with many of his compatriots. Who knows where life will take us. I certainly never expected to be in London for this one year, nor imagine that I’d be where I am right now, by circumstance and not by choice.

But the time in London, at least, is drawing to a close, and as we shook hands to say good bye, I think it will be sometime more before we will meet again......That’s how things often are.

Midway in Miami

2007-09-12T01:09:00.001Z

When I stepped out of Miami-Dade International Airport, it felt as though I had stepped right back into Singapore. The heat! The humidity! The overpowering feeling of being in a tropical country once more. But of course, I was only midway through my return journey from Peru back to London.

I had landed in Miami just after noon time, enduring a long flight from Lima which had departed at a God-forsaken hour. And what lay ahead was an awful and long eight hour layover, before my connecting flight to London was due to take off.

I could hang around in the airport, wandering up and down the miserable sods, cramped in the massive, concrete halls, or I could head into town and have some fun instead. Which was exactly what I did.

I had been to Miami before, and decided to skip the famous South Beach district, with its array of handsome art deco buildings. The cab ride took me this time round to the Bayside Marketplace – one of those well planned combination retail, dining and entertainment hubs to be found all over America.

Lunch found me at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., where I wolfed down a divine clam chowder, a heavenly plate of fried shrimps, and then an almighty serving of a Mississippi mud pie. I need no further reminder of how massive food portions in the US are.

Adequately bloated, I then took a cruise round the Florida port area, with its elite island-homes for the rich and famous. Some of the local residents? Rosie O’Donnell, Shaquille O’Neal, Gloria Estefan and even Vanilla Ice. All in all, it was quite a fun little interlude. Incidentally, BP, if you’re reading this, surely you recognize that this seems be the same itinerary that you had just a couple of weeks ago?

The Faces Of Peru

2007-09-11T23:16:00.000Z

One of the pleasures of touring Peru this time round was the opportunity to see so many faces that were new and fresh to me. I had travelled through Latin America before, but not to a country that had such a rich indigenous tradition. I reckoned my tour leader, Javier, must have come from the 15 percent of the population who claim complete European descent.

The vast majority of the population, however, were mixed mestizos, or of pure Amerindian heritage, with some still speaking the Quechua language of the Incas. Of course, Peru is also known for having produced Alberto Fujimori, the controversial Japanese-descended president who held power during the 1990s. There’s actually a small Asian ethnic minority, including the Chinese community, who are behind chifa – the distinctive Peruvian-Chinese cuisine.

But for me, I was just happy to have captured these brilliant images of the people of Peru.

A Vision Of Beauty

2007-09-11T22:17:00.000Z

It was really awe-inspiring. Some attractions ended up being anti-climatic. But Machu Picchu lives up to the hype. I think part of the allure lay in the difficulty visitors have in reaching the site, perched high up at 2400m above the jungles, far from anywhere. And when you get up there, finally, the view which greets you is simply amazing.

It’s easy to read the detailed history of Machu Picchu elsewhere. What’s important to know, however, that this supposed lost city was, I guess, just not that widely known to the outside world, until 1911, when American explorer and future Senator Hiram Bingham came to the region, and was shown the place by more knowledgeable locals.

Since then, Machu Picchu has sprung to international fame, attracting more visitors than it probably should, getting itself listed recently as one of the new seven wonders of the world, with my presence helping probably to damage the fragile environment. But let’s put that aside for now, and consider the remarkable history of this place.

For one reason why Machu Picchu retains its well-preserved state was that the conquering Spanish never did manage to stumble upon this mountain citadel, because, if they did, they would have doubtlessly rampaged through the entire town, destroying anything that was valuable, as was their wont.

Yet history took a different turn, and Machu Picchu survived, although it was later abandoned by its own inhabitants. Perhaps there was a plague. Or perhaps mountain living became too difficult to sustain economically. It was never a large settlement, encompassing perhaps only a thousand inhabitants.

Agriculture must have been difficult, and trade with other communities not easy as well. What they were spared from, however, was earthquakes, for the reason why the Incas built this high altitude settlement was to escape the landslides and unsettled terrain further down.

It’s estimated that the Machu Picchu was built, occupied and abandoned in the space of less than a hundred years. And when the last person left, the jungle took over, covering the place up, thereby serving to shroud Machu Picchu for generations to come. The stuff of legends. And frankly, I feel rather privileged to have had the opportunity to come see this monument to humanity.

Rampant in Peru

2007-09-11T14:24:00.001Z

And so this past week found me in the land of the Andes, of llamas and alpacas, of distant peoples speaking Quechua and Aymara, of towering mountains and misty coasts, of that most mystical mountain redoubt known as Machu Picchu, and of mind-blowing headaches, which was what I endured, when I went to Peru.

I handed in the final dissertation, having pulled through an unhealthy week of too little sleep and too much chocolate, before setting of across the oceans to Lima, where my tour was set to begin. The country had suffered a devastating earthquake only a fortnight ago, but the damage was limited to the south, with my itinerary hardly affected at all.

As for me, all seemed fine, even with the delayed arrival into Lima – which proved to be a more modern and Americanized city that I had expected. The next day, we flew to Juliaca, up in the Andean highlands, before taking a bus journey to Puno, nestled on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world, located at the Peruvian-Bolivian border.

I had long heard of this most magical expanse of water, situated high up, and reputedly the source of the mighty Incan civilization, which reigned supreme throughout much of the area, before the Spanish conquistadors arrived in the sixteenth century and began their ferocious ravage through these ancient lands.

But it was in Puno, at an elevation of more than 3800m, where the problems started. My head began to thump and thump ever harder, and I felt increasingly dizzy and nauseous. So this is what altitude sickness feels like. It was certainly not what I expected, and I proceeded to have a rotten few days. This being the South American winter, the freezing temperatures did not help as well.

Pumped full of Aleve, Advil and altitude sickness pills, I got myself in shape for a cruise on the following day, marvels most magical greeted us. The Uros islands, such as they were, were not even real islands, but floating reed-based platforms, on which communities have long settled. The scene which greeted us could have existed for centuries, if one took out the odd solar panel from the perspective in front.

Taquile Island, however, was a real land mass, and we had to trek up a few hundred meters, my heart pounding crazily, as I gasped for breath in the thin air, before reaching a central plaza, where lunch was to be had. An interesting area, looking out to the wondrous expanse of blue water under a brilliant blue sky, but perhaps not worth the near heart attacks I had to endure.

We left the following day for a trip to Cusco, lower down at 3300m, and formerly the capital of the Incas. Little from that era survives today, however, with the Spanish having stamped their presence. Their typical modus operandi was to plonk a church right on top of indigenous sacred sites, such as the Monastery of Santo Domingo, built on top the Incan Temple of the Sun.

Give the conquerors their due though. Cusco now has a very attractive central square, the Plaza de Armas, with a lovely La Compañía de Jesús church and a magnificent Catedral – housing an interesting Andean version of the Last Supper portrait, featuring Christ and his apostles dining on a roasted cuy, or guinea pig. What the rest of us regard as household pets are eaten with aplomb in Peru. Having once owned two guinea pigs, I could not bring myself to even contemplate tucking into one of these loveable creatures.

One had to head out of Cusco to find remnants of Incan life, such as the fortress of Sacayhuamán – universally pronounced as Sexy Woman – and also Ollantaytambo, which we visited the next day during an extended tour down what is known as the Incan Sacred Valley. There was also Pisac, with a lively market in the colonial town nearby.

The Incans were an amazing civilization, accomplishing much, reaching at its height from the jungles of present-day Columbia southwards to northern Chile. And they managed rather well, despite not having invented the wheel, which was pretty redundant, given the rough terrain of the area, and despite not having devised a written language.

The meant that most of what we now know of the Incans come from contemporaneous Spanish chronicles, many of which were drafted to serve the purpose of empire, rather than for disinterested scientific research. Certainly, the tale of how the Spanish crushed the Incans is no bedtime fairytale, filled as it is with harrowing accounts of duplicity and deception, masking outright aggression and sheer greed.

The exception to this tale of domination was Machu Picchu, which represented our focus for the next couple of days. Those so inclined to take a four day trekking trail, hiking through the forests. But I was a lazy tourist, and already, I felt that the journey there was long enough. We had to take a train from Ollytaytambo and then spend a night at Aguas Calientes, a little town at the foothill of the impressive city, whose entire existence seems to be to support the throngs of travellers who have journeyed there to behold this wonder of the world.

The way things worked out, I was able to tour Lima, the capital, only at the tail end of my visit to Peru. It’s a large, sprawling city, with many different districts, some more upscale, and others less so. My base was in the prosperous Miraflores district in the south, but many of the sites were clustered around the colonial core, including the delightful Plaza San Martin, and the prominent Plaza Mayor, with its stately yellow colonial buildings and imposing cathedral and presidential palace.

During my time in Peru, the epicurean in me was keen also to try out the local booze, particular Pisco Sour, the national cocktail, which comprises Pisco, the Peruvian brandy, and a heady concoction of lime, egg white, syrup and dash of bitter. A much easier drink was the Cusqueña beer, of which I consumed copious amounts. I tried chica as well – a corn based beer with a low alcohol content.

It struck me that, counting Spain itself, Peru represented the seventh Spanish-speaking country I’ve visited, and I wish I’ve picked up more of the language through these joruneys. Yes, I can certainly order some leche to add to my coffee, and demand my mantequilla, when I get my toast, but when it comes to haggling with the souvenir sellers, I have quite a bit of ground to cover. Well, till next time...

Travel Notes: I flew to Peru on American Airlines, transiting in Miami. The ground tour was arranged by the Canadian-based G.A.P. Adventures, which I would recommend highly. During the trip, our tour leader introduced us to a series of excellent restaurants, including the Fallen Angel and Witches Garden in Cusco, and also Mangos in Lima.

Ode To The Toaster Oven

2007-08-29T04:40:00.001Z

Here’s a picture of one of my best and most dependable companions this past year – my toaster oven, which I bought from Argos at the start of my time here in London. Surely the best £20 I’ve ever spent, considering the sheer hours of joy it brought to me and my satisfied stomach. It’s now old, used and full of crumbs, but the delicious memories will always be there. The nights may have been cold, and the work may pile up, but with the oven around, there’s always a Cornish Pasty to be heated up, or even a bowl of soup. What bliss.

Student lives are simple. We don’t ask for much. Just easy exams, less work, and a full stomach. I’m now nearing the end of my time as a student, though, with mere days to go. The past weeks in August have been pretty dreary – and even unhealthy – but I’ve had to put in time to work on my dissertation. How will I do? Well, just gimme a pass, and I’ll be happy.

I’ve been commiserating with the Swinger a few doors away, who’s also in the last stage of his much more massive dissertation. And even at this late stage, he’s yet to receive his experimental results from his university lab. Damm these Imperialists.

Anyway, I don’t usually preview my coming days, but the plan now is to hand in the completed work at the end of this week, check out of Goodenough College, and head off thereafter for a post-dissertation break, before returning to London later in September. I’ll then spend my last week here in this great city.

So I’ll be back soon. Stay tuned.

Towards The End Times

2007-08-23T01:45:00.000Z

Nothing is happening. Well, nothing which is worth blogging about. I’ve been stuck to my desk, working on the dissertation, for the due date is looming large, and consuming copious amounts of Diet Coke, coffee and chocolate. Night is day, and day is night. It's not the best kind of lifestyle, but I think this is purely transient.

Even the weather outside has been crappy. I know I was afraid of a hot summer, but this is ridiculous. We’re in the middle of August, but I’ve had to turn on my heater, and put on a jacket when stepping even a step away from the hall. And meanwhile, the rain continues to drizzle downwards, soaking this capital in more misery.

A bright note has been my Anglo-Russian friend from class, who dropped off a CD comprising mainly German and French pop music with me. Heh, we’re certainly leading very cosmopolitan lives here. There are quite a few good tracks. But even as I write this, my room’s already half dismantled, with my move out of the College measured now in days.

The Name Is Bourne, Jason Bourne

2007-08-19T00:04:00.001Z

So I took valuable time away from much needed deskwork. But who cares? It’s Saturday evening, and awaiting me was a screening of The Bourne Ultimatum - simply a most brilliant movie, with lots of violence, lots of gore, lots of action, bullets and car chases, though there was hardly any sex. But I don’t think that was the point of this amazing thriller.

I met up first with SSG, GNK+1 and his other half for dinner at Royal Margin, where our Wah Laus marked us out immediately for who we were. Wah lau. And then came the big bowls of Vietnamese beef noodles, which were a delight on this rather cool August evening.

The Surrey Quays Odeon was rather packed, but we managed to get pretty good seats, and settled down for the third installment of the Bourne trilogy, which seized me instantly when the first, The Bourne Identity, was released some years back. It came right at around the same time as the disastrous Die Another Day, Pierce Brosnan’s final outing as James Bond, marred by an over-reliance on special effects. And the contrast was immediately striking.

Borne, thus, was the anti-Bond. The difference was reflected even in the camera directions, with conventional steady shots juxtaposed against edge, hand-held effects. And in fact, surely I’m not the only one who has noticed the similarities in their names? James Bond vs Jason Bourne? One being the suave agent of the state, and the other being the hunted enemy of the state? The Bourne Ultimatum had it all; chase sequences through most of Europe, including a wonderful scene set in London’s Waterloo Station – a place I’ve been through quite a few times.

While waiting for the bus after the movie, SSG asked if men aspired to be like Jason Bourne as well. I don’t think so. The thing about Bond is that it represents a fantasy. He has his vodka martini, his gadgets, his cool cars, and of course, the women. But Bourne gets none of this. He is a person without friends, without support, without even an identity. He roams the world, seeking to flee those who would wanna kill him, seeking to find out more about himself.

So, I’d much rather have my Aston Martin Vanquish than have to put up with stealing crappy cars.

The Raising Of The Bridge

2007-08-17T21:26:00.001Z

SSG's back in town, and I went over to her new place this afternoon, exiting at Tower Hill Tube Station and then crossing the Thames on the famous Victorian-era Tower Bridge – surely one of old London’s most famous landmarks. It was a pretty good day to be out – delays on the Circle Line notwithstanding – with the weather remaining rather mild. I had feared a repeat of last year’s summer, with temperatures well into the thirties, but things have remained cool, if showery, this season.

Walking back later, a little unexpected treat was in store - the lifting of Tower Bridge. Both vehicular and pedestrian traffic were stopped, as the road bridge parted, pointing majestically upwards.

What a sight. Which august vessel could be sailing through? Soon, excited voices shrieked. I turned to my right, and witnessed this sail craft go by, with a posh looking posse on board. Heh. I can’t believe they would lift the bridge and stop traffic for such a small – albeit tall – vessel.

And after it sailed past, down came the bridge, and before long, all was normal again.

An Evening With The Brains

2007-08-15T21:39:00.000Z

How nice – another London experience in the bag. This evening, I attended a live recording of the BBC Radio 4 general knowledge quiz show, Brain of Britain, at their Maida Vale studios. I’d thought I’d try my luck and sign up for a ticket entitling me to be part of the studio audience. And though I had a good time this evening, I felt as though I had stepped back twenty years.

For Brain of Britain will always remind me of my childhood. I first heard it on the BBC World Service when I was growing up, and have continued to tune in over the years. It’s been chaired for eons chaired by the venerable Robert Robinson, who stepped aside this year because of health problems. In his place this season was another British institution, the veteran journalist Peter Snow, who seemed rather absent-minded, even given the straightforward format of the show. I bet the producer wished he had picked someone else instead.

The studios, too, must have been constructed decades ago, reminding me somewhat of the Caldecott Hill broadcasting centre in Singapore, which I’m familiar with. There was a 1980s atmosphere all round – hard to describe – but definitely present, even in the loos. And what about the audience and contestants? Well, let’s just say that it was a joy to be able to step into some place nowadays, and find myself lowering the average age, not raising it.

But I’m not here to be mean. I rather enjoyed myself, and wished at times that I could have been up there as one of the contestants. There were quite a few questions I could answer, though I need to brush up on my Greek mythology and my Bible knowledge. Several questions came from these fields. But at least I now know things like what a hydra monster is exactly, that Cassiopoeia is the mother of Andromeda, that the Epistle of Jude is the shortest book in the New Testaments, and that Patmos is the place where St John the Divine composed the Book of Revelations. Useful stuff eh?

The Summer Soundtrack

2007-08-14T20:27:00.000Z

Man, I just love Angels and Airwaves. What a brilliant band. Thanks HM! And barely a couple of months ago, I hadn’t heard of them at all. HM and the SSG may be away from London currently, but they’ve both left me with a stack of their music. And as I pound away furiously at my keyboard this month, I’ve had the pleasure of listening to their choice collection. My musical education is progressing along very well.

Of course, the two of them couldn’t differ more in their tastes. One offers classy jazz and ambient music from the likes of Stacey Kent, Moby, Sophie Ellis-Bexter and Dido, while the other has given me delightful palpitations with loud offerings from the Killers, the Fratellis, Artic Monkeys, the Caesars and more. Heh.

I also tried playing the music from 五五六六 (5566) though. Wah lau. I will stick with listening to my Jolin.

Dinner On The Terrace

2007-08-11T23:08:00.001Z

This evening was definitely a nice interlude away from work. Everyone’s favourite Anglo/Russian-Israeli/Uruguayan couple from class decided to do something really special and nice, and organized a lovely home-cooked dinner for a few of us on the fourth floor roof terrace here at Goodenough College’s London House.

And by the light of the setting sun we all gathered, sipping wine, exchanging words, and tucking into a good spread of fried rice, potatoes, salad, curried chicken plus other dishes. I never complain when there’s good food, especially not when accompanied by great company all round.

After dinner, we headed to the Freddie’s Bar down in the basement, where a Scrabble board was quickly produced. I think it must have been years since I played Scrabble, but at least my team didn’t come in last. Words such as brood and quirk helped out quite a bit.

It’s difficult to describe the feeling of August. I’ve not been heading out as much as I did. Yet I hardly get a sense of time moving slower. If anything, I feel as though it’s heading forward inexorably – as time does – and at a faster speed. I don’t have many days left here, and it’s a shame that these final moments are to be spent mostly at the desktop, pouring over putrid academic work.

Scenes From The Neighbourhood

2007-08-08T19:09:00.001Z

Well, I have been doing a wee bit of work. The enforced time inside my room has delivered some miniscule benefit. But the weather outside has been magnificent this week, with sunny skies and temperatures in the low to mid-twenties. How perfect. And what a shame I’m caged up in this pathetic coop called my room. Arrrgh.

But I still have to feed myself. And as I ventured out this afternoon, I thought I’d take the camera along, and capture some images from around the neighbourhood. I guess I’ll remember some of these scenes fondly when I leave London next month.

First I had had to make my way past these colourfully-dark prison-like corridors.

Down an equally dark stairwell, which offered a tantalizing view of the glorious weather outside.

Finally, the London House lawn, basking in the bright sunshine. It's pretty quiet this time of year, with few souls around.

And here's the Brunswick - home of Waitrose supermarket, Virgin Megastore, and the Hare & Tortoise restaruant - where I must have spent literally hundreds and hundreds of pounds over the past months.

This is the entrance to the Russell Square Tube Station, with the strong Underground logo juxtaposed against the dark early 20th century masonry of the station walls.

Less than a minute's walk away on Herbrand Street is this most impressive Art Deco building with its distinctive lines - now the London headquarters of advertising agency McCann-Erickson.

And here's my sentimental favourite - the Starbucks on Lamb's Conduit Street. The composition ain't much, but I spent many happy and high moments inside with my dear friends; the Chai Latte, the Double Tall Latte and the Mocca Frappuccino.

Here's the sign that greets you at the gate to Coram's Field, which is right next to Goodenough College. Never fails to bring a smile to my face. I've never been able to gain access as well. Anyone has a child to lend?

Walking back, I pass by one side of the London House building, and until recently, I could see someone actually growing a tomato plant - the verdant leaves clearly visible at the window's edge.

Back in my room, with the sun setting, I see a woman walking on the grounds of Mecklenburgh Gardens, with the shadows of the late afternoon casting long impressions on the luxuriant green lawn.

Scattered Thoughts

2007-08-06T15:17:00.000Z

Compared to the frenetic days of June and July, I’ve been keeping myself mostly indoors this August, ostensibly to work on the dissertation. Except that I haven’t really been. Both spirit and flesh are weak. The mind is distracted. But there’s no other way to get round it, but to sit down, and start working. How am I to surmount this challenge?

X X X X X X X X X X

I did take some time out on Sunday to join a few friends from class for another bout of dim sum at Queensway. As usual, I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and I hope they did, too. It will be a long while before I get tired of dim sum, which I once interpreted as Chinese tapas for someone not familiar with them. I can never have enough carrot cake or har gao. But the strange thing is that I find myself eating dim sum usually when I’m abroad. I cannot recall the last time I had dim sum in Singapore, much less have any favourite dim sum restaurant.

X X X X X X X X X X

Back home, of course, is where DH, GNK, HM, SSG and BP are all right now. The Goodenough gang in London is getting smaller, with just minor remnants remaining. I know they’ve already gotten together for eating and for dancing, and a big part of me wishes that I could have been there as well. I miss my lor mee and my cat. OK…and it would be nice to see them too. For what does National Day mean?

X X X X X X X X X X

Sunday turned out to the warmest day of the year so far, with temperatures hitting 30 degrees Celsius in London. My running route on weekends takes me not to Regent’s Park, as usual, but down a different path, past St Paul’s Cathedral, through the City of London, and into the Gherkin. The City’s much quieter on weekends, with hardly any traffic, and all the shops and offices are closed. It makes running there all the more pleasant.

And that’s one of the plans for August, anyway. To run as often as I can. To get into tip top shape before I leave for home next month, when working life beckons again, which typically means an inevitable downward spiral of the body. Still, GNK and GNK+1 used to be able to run all the way from Russell Square to Tower Bridge, but I think I shall pass on that.

X X X X X X X X X X

I love the song, Moon River, but because I’ve never watched Breakfast At Tiffany’s, I didn’t know that it was sung originally in the movie by Audrey Hepburn, even though it came from there. But through the magic of YouTube, I got to see the clip where she sits at her window ledge, strumming her guitar languidly, singing the song. After hearing a succession of middle-aged men perform it – think Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams, Perry Como etc – it was a refreshing delight to hear Audrey Hepburn’s lithe and ladylike tones.

And what an angel she was. In the sequence from the movie, after she finishes singing, she looks upwards, and notices that someone had been observing her all along. With the camera on her face, she says, ever so gently, “Hi, whatcha doin’?", and smiles...

It’s enough to melt anyone’s heart.

And Now It's August

2007-08-01T23:52:00.000Z

I caught the Simpsons Movie today at Leicester Square. I emerged with mixed feelings. It was very funny and enjoyable, and I had also read many reviews lauding it. Yet, I guess I was also slightly disappointed, in that it wasn't as good as I thought it would be. Perhaps I went in with inflated expectations, but I felt the plot was rather far-fetched – even for a cartoon – while the depiction of Homer was bordering on caricature – even for Homer.

Ah well…it was nice to catch up later on in the evening with quite a few from the class, when we gathered for drinks at the Marquis of Cornwallis pub on Marchmont Street, right next to the Brunswick Centre. A few are bidding their final farewells to London, intending to complete their dissertations away from the UK. I don't know when I shall next see them.

I'm also well aware that we’re now in August. The clock is ticking. The days are starting to get shorter. The travel bug has been stamped out. The spirit is weak, but the dissertation remains unwritten. And so the lure of the laptop and library awaits. My life this coming month will be, well, slightly more boring…

A Place Of Pleasure

2007-07-31T21:18:00.000Z

And there it was! One of Britain’s most spectacular and idiosyncratic buildings, the Royal Pavilion. I’ve long heard about this amazing creation by renowned architect John Nash, and headed to Brighton on this most glorious summer’s day to see it for myself. As always, when visiting these great historic monuments, you run the risk of having the edifice covered in scaffolding because of ongoing restoration works, so these close-up pictures are the best I could manage, without actually revealing the bits which were obscured.

The Royal Pavilion is intimately linked to the Regency period of British history, when, in the early 19th century, the fun-loving Prince Regent – and later King George IV – came to spend an increasing amount of time in this seaside resort - for health and for amourous reasons. On the site first stood a farmhouse, which was then converted into a neo-classical villa.

Later on, the Prince Regent commissioned John Nash, one of the era’s greatest architect, to remodel the building, which Nash then transformed into a most amazing complex in a Mughal-inspired Indo-Saracenic style, with lavish onion domes and minarets. Clearly, cultural influences flowed both ways in this age of empire.

But while the exterior was Indian, the interior was Chinese – or more accurately described as Chinoiserie – a craze for decorative oriental designs which swept the fashionable of Europe as early as the 18th century. We see within the Pavilion Chinese-inspired decorative elements, such as dragons, created by contemporary craftsmen who had probably never set foot out of England.

It was a shame that no cameras were allowed inside the Pavilion, for words cannot describe the sheer opulence of the two greatest rooms within – the Banqueting Room, with its one ton chandelier with a dragon and palm leaves on top, and also the even more resplendent Music Room, with dragon and snake motifs throughout, and a red color scheme pervading the entire hall.

A short walk away from the Royal Pavilion is the famous Brighton Pier - venue for fun and frivolity. And what better time to come here than in high summer, without a cloud in the sky, to see people out and about, enjoying themselves, especially after the dismal weather over the couple of months. I walked past the amusement centre, the many ice cream stalls, and the outdoor rides, before stopping for a meal at the Palm Court restaurant for some posh nosh – Cod and Chips, followed by Spotted Dick.

After a few appropriate post-meal burps, I ventured inland again, towards the Brighton Museum and Art Gallery, where an eclectic array of exhibits was on display, ranging from art to local history to design, and then wandered up and down the meandering narrow lanes of an area prosaically called The Lanes, dating from Brighton’s earliest days, now bustling with cafes aplenty.

What a nice afternoon away from London. And in just over an hour on the train, I was back in the capital. A very delightful journey this certainly was.

Back in South Ken

2007-07-30T19:15:00.000Z

My tour through the great museums and galleries of London continued apace today. Acting on an earlier recommendation by the Swinger, who dazzles next door at Imperial, I ventured to the South Kensington area again, this time to check out the Science Museum.

Nestled next to the illustrious Natural History Museum and opposite the eminent Victoria and Albert Museum, it appears like a poor cousin, it wouldn’t be fair to think of it in that way, especially when I stepped in and became overwhelmed almost right away by the sheer breadth and depth of the exhibits on offer. Even Bob the Builder was there, but I didn't get a chance to see him.

It was mind-boggling. I stayed for no more than two hours – barely scratching the surface, yet making sure I grabbed a fridge magnet from the gift shop – and left feeling pretty impressed by brilliant scientists and engineers. I don’t think I will have the time or occasion to return, so here are some nice memories of a mentally torrid afternoon.

Day of Reckoning

2007-07-30T17:53:00.000Z

Ooo, I got my exam results today. OK, so they were provisional results, subject to confirmation at the end of the year. How did I do? Well, let’s just say that I won’t have to think about hurling myself out of the window anymore. It’s good to know that the hard work – yes, there was hard work – has paid off.

One final dissertation now stands between me and the MSc.

No Beer Was Sold

2007-07-29T22:36:00.000Z

I never expected that a small country like Denmark could host such a world-class treasure trove of arts and antiquities. But then, I hadn’t heard of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek until I visited Copenhagen a few days ago. And what’s amazing about this place is that it was established privately by the brewer Carl Jacobsen of Carlsberg fame. This is public spiritedness and service at its best.

And when you step into its domed central hall, you wonder if you’ve entered a museum. Or perhaps it’s a sub-tropical greenhouse. Why the lush greenery around?

And in the various surrounding galleries, there’s an impressive collection of sculpture, ranging from many famous Rodin pieces, to others created by Danish artists such as Stephan Sinding. Indeed, Glyptotek refers to a collection of sculpture.

But there’s also a good selection of classical artefacts from the Greek, Roman and early Mediterranean era, including this most amazing hall, looking like an ancient temple.

Heading to its new adjoining wing, there’s even a slate of French impressionist and post-impressionist paintings, including a large number from Paul Gaughin. We know of Gaughin from his many Tahiti works, but perhaps not of his Danish connection, through his wife.

What I liked about the Glyptotek was also its sense of adventure. It presented a temporary exhibition, “The Real, Unnaturalism”, which juxtaposed modern art with those from much earlier eras, resulting in interesting sights such as these:

Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen

2007-07-28T20:57:00.001Z

So I trundled, traipsed and trotted half way across town to look for her. I had told HM on-line that I’d go there, point fingers at her and laugh at her. Well, I was joking. But I guess any visitor to the city just had to go pay a pilgrimage to her home by the water’s edge. And finally, after walking through the grounds of the Kastellet, an old fortification, I caught a glimpse of her.

It was Den Lille Havfrue, known to the English-speaking world as The Little Mermaid, from Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tale, about she who was willing to give everything up for the love of a prince. The statue was commissioned in the early part of the 20th century, and has rapidly become one of the most iconic images of Copenhagen, even of Denmark.

To describe her as underwhelming would be unfair. It cuts a small, lonely and forlorn figure, with an empty expression, and has been subject in the past to various acts of vandalism. But it is a national symbol, nonetheless, though I wonder if it’s more popular with visitors than with locals. The US has a mighty Statue of Liberty, France has the imposing Eiffel Tower, both reaching high up, but Denmark has only this tiny figure. Still, it’s way better than Singapore’s vomiting half-lion, half-fish.

I had arrived in Copenhagen the previous day to complete my summer sojourn through the major Scandinavian states. First Finland, and then Norway and Sweden, and now, Denmark. They share many superficial similarities, with a flair for design, efficient transportation, clean streets, and good looking inhabitants, each with the ability, it seems, to speak flawless English.

But the Danes, I’ve been told, are the least reserved and most fun loving of all Scandinavians. And judging just from what I encountered in Copehangen that seems to be true. It may not be as beautiful a city as Stockholm, set on water, but there was a sense that it was edgier, more cosmopolitan, more colorful, and full of life.

A very visible demonstration of this was the sheer number of young children I encountered. Have birth rates in Denmark bucked the downward European trend? But everywhere I went, I saw families with young children, testifying to how comfortable they are with raising their young in the city. And that, surely, was a very positive sign.

On my first day, late in the afternoon, I walked down the Strøget, Copenhagen’s main pedestrianised shopping street, past the picturesque Nyhavn harbour, across the grand Kongens Nytorv circle, and then to the Amalieborg Palace, seat of Denmark’s royalty, who hail from the oldest reigning dynasty in Europe, dating back to the Viking era. And then, with time to kill in the evening, I headed to the local Erotic Museum. Heh.

The following day, some high art was called for, and I spent quite a bit of time in Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek – a spectacular museum established by the Carlsberg Foundation with riches from their brewing business – and also the Statens Museum For Kunst – the Danish national gallery of art. Both institutions were incredible, replete with cultural riches.

The day was filled with many other activities. I also visited the Frihedsmuseet, located near the Little Mermaid, which recounts the story of Denmark’s occupation by the Germans during the Second World War, the Marmorkirken, a huge domed church adjacent to the Amalienborg Palace, and also the Rundetaarn, a baroque-era Round Tower, presenting visitors a good look of the entire inner city.

The next morning, I departed my hotel, thirsty, and walked some twenty minutes away from the city towards the Carlsberg – Probably the Best Beer in the World – Brewery. My destination was their Visitor’s Centre, but the 19th century architecture of the old complex had much to offer as well. Particularly interesting was the entrance archway, with four huge elephants, including this one with a swastika on it.

Of course the swastika was an ancient symbol of good luck, unfortunately misappropriated by the Nazis. What I learnt later on was that before the current emblem of a crown came to be used, some pre-war bottles of Carlsberg carried the swastika label, with others using a double-star insignia instead.

The trip to the visitor’s centre was most rewarding, offering a good overview of the company’s history, from its foundation by the Jacobsen family to its merger in 1970 with the Tuborg beer company and beyond. And the best part of my tour? The beer tastings that came at the end.

I spent the rest of the day visiting the Nationalmuseet, which tells the story of the Danish people, and also Vor Frue Kirke, a church with a neo-classical column design and an arresting Christ figure, before heading to the Strøget again for some people watching, with its many shoppers and buskers. This had been a good trip, and I was glad to have been here.

Denmark surely punches above its weight in the world. It is home to more than butter cookies, Lego and the Little Mermaid. It has produced composer Carl Nielsen and physicist Niels Bohr, philosopher Søren Kierkegaard and silversmith Georg Jensen. Of course, detracting from this august list is Michael Learns to Rock. Yucks.

My abiding regret on this trip? Copenhagen is home to the world-famous Tivoli Gardens – filled with rides and other attractions. But as I had travelled there alone, it seemed odd for me to go in on my own. So I didn't. What a shame. But perhaps one day, I shall be back, with a friend or two in tow, ready to enjoy this most enjoyable city again.

Travel Notes: I flew from London Stansted airport via EasyJet to Copenhagen’s magnificent airport at Kastrup, just a short train ride away from the city’s main train station. I secured budget accommodation only a minute’s walk away at Hotel Nebo. For cheap food, look no further than Riz Raz, with three branches in town, offering good Mediterranean buffet.

A Wasted Day, A Wonderful Year

2007-07-24T17:04:00.000Z

It’s a strong testament to my foresight and abilities at good planning. At long last, the rain clouds have drifted away, and a semblance of summer emerged today, with bright skies and fluffy clouds. And this was also the day that I chose to stay inside to work on, well, paperwork. Meanwhile, outside, London is abuzz with activity.

So, at very least, I guess it was just the right day to head out for a good run to Regents Park, where the tops were down, the hemlines were up, the dogs were roaming happy, and I felt exhausted, after a week of excuses had kept me from donning my running gear. Primrose Hill will have to wait for another day.

The SSG and HM were on line, but this time in Singapore, and not London, much less mere moments away somewhere else in the College. But they’re gone now, and the beginning of the end of my London sabbatical is becoming ever evident. At this stage, I still don’t know what lies next, nor where I’d be. But what I do know is that I’ve certainly sealed a few solid friendships here. And that’s Goodenough for me.

My Own Lazy Weekend

2007-07-23T14:14:00.000Z

Compared to the frenetic activity of the week before, I’ve had a comparatively quiet weekend, principally because I’ve been feeling a wee bit under the weather, in more than one sense of the word. So Britain has been hit by some of the worst flooding in recent memory, and given my prudent choice to head out without a brolly, compounded by a lack of sleep and the onset of fatigue, my body broke down sometime on Saturday.

I had been out for lunch with a contact at the Habour City in Chinatown, and decided after that to walk to nearby Piccadilly to check out the famed Abercrombie & Fitch outlet. But the weather was atrocious, with heavy rainstorms soon giving way to humid sunshine, making it too reminiscent of Southeast Asia. Around me was a sea of humanity, a multitude of madness, drenching my senses with too much noise and colour, and I started getting increasingly woozy. I knew I had to head back for a good rest.

I was rewarded in the evening with a wonderful, home-cooked meal. The Celebrity Swinger Chef, who had announced earlier that he was hanging up his wok, decided after some prodding by the Fierce One to venture down to the buttery for another demonstration of his culinary prowess – something which he continued to do the following evening. I appreciate these moments, humbled by the realization that I will never be able to cook as well as him, but confident that I am able to eat more than a good share of what’s available. Heh.

In between, on Sunday afternoon, the few of us journeyed to the Surrey Quays/Canada Water area again on board the reliable Bus 188 from Russell Square to meet up with GNK+1 and his other half for Sunday carvery lunch at Spice Island, a large pub restaurant situated at the water’s edge. Around were lovely modern residential developments, which served only to make me continue fantasizing about living and working in London.

In the evening, after the delicious dinner, we convened for another session at Swinger’s Bar, whereupon the remaining Russian Standard vodka and Bombay Sapphire gin were quickly consumed. It would also be the last time for a long while before I would meet BP again. He’s heading off soon – that lucky bugger – for his second year of studies in the Big Apple. Meanwhile, GNK+1 is starting work at the bank, but with the dissertation yet complete. Best of luck to the both of them!

History, Music and Friendship

2007-07-20T22:38:00.000Z

I spent the day with two lovely ladies from my class – delightful individuals with whom I’ve not really hung out with for some time. How awful. Thus it’s always good to catch up with them, and part of me feels the tension of time ticking, with my tenure in London destined inexorably to end very soon...

So she stays Potters Bar in Hertfordshire, which is located just outside London’s M25 orbital, and thus I suggested meeting up at nearby St Albans, an ancient town with Roman origins, for tea and more. I was always happy to get out of London, even if peripherally.

After the dreadful morning storms had cleared, I boarded a creaking First Capital Connect train and pulled into St Albans station, with bright skies and a warm hug greeting me. Traipsing into town, we fortified our stomachs, before checking out the first sight on offer – the Parish Church of St Peter.

A short walk away, I came upon St Albans’ main attraction - its spectacular cathedral. I’ve written before about my interest in old English cathedrals, and the one at St Albans was certainly no let down. This is an outstanding example of medieval architecture, with a very long nave, and even some recognizably Norman features.

We ended our tour of the town with a stop for sustenance at Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, believed to be England’s oldest surviving pub, with an extant 11th Century structure. The ancient woodwork inside reeks of hundreds of years of historical boozing. I said to her that oldest man-made edifice in Singapore dates back probably to only the 1820s and 1830s. Here, in Europe, you get to walk around with the ghosts of generations past surrounding you everywhere.

I headed back to London and rushed straight to the Barbican Arts Centre, where I linked up with my other friend and popped into the concert hall with barely seconds to go before the performance started. I attended her birthday celebrations last Saturday, and thought it might be nice to bring her out for some lovely music.

Although I’ve never been to the Barbican, I remembered her telling me of her fondness for the venue, and with the Manchester Camerata – which hails from her hometown – performing this evening, it promised to be a wonderful evening out.

The Barbican is a large combined arts complex, featuring not only music, but also film, drama, exhibitions and talks. But I know of it not only because of this aspect, but also because it’s regularly been described as among the UK’s ugliest buildings. Opened in the early 1980s, I could be charitable and perhaps term it as best as a concrete monstrosity.

Which is a shame, because the interior was pretty decent. Sure, it wasn’t as resplendent as the Royal Albert Hall, but it was functional and modern. The Barbican Hall, where musical performances are staged, was smaller than I expected, engendering an intimate seminar atmosphere.

What about the music? We were on hand for a concert in the currently Mostly Mozart series, and tonight’s menu reflected this theme. We started with a weird modernist work by Stravinsky – his Concerto in D – before proceeding to enjoy Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 4, his Piano Concerto No. 21, and his famous Symphony No. 41, the Jupiter, with its stirring and unforgettable finale.

We ended the evening by sauntering to nearby Moorgate, where we enjoyed a drink at the Red Lion. I can’t think of a more archetypal name for a British pub. Surely there must be dozens of Red Lions out there? She tells me as well that she's likely to spend the next month working on the dissertation while being camped out in Spain. How idyllic. As for me, I'll continue my own encampment in London, with so much more to see, experience, and eat.

From Mecklenburgh Square to Millennium Square

2007-07-20T00:50:00.000Z

Man, I don’t think I’ve had such a physically shack and siong day for quite some time, at least not since the run-up to East Asian Night some months back. Together with SW and BP, I spent much of Thursday helping the SSG to pack her stuff for her move from Goodenough College across the river to her new place at Millennium Square. It was a really exhausting day. And I’m certainly getting any younger...

But don’t get me wrong. I was certainly happy to help her with the move to the new flat, which she will be sharing with the HM, who’s currently back in Singapore. And what a lovely new place they have, close by to Butler’s Wharf, with the Thames and Tower Bridge very close by, and with lots of amenities around, including important outlets such as a Starbucks and a wine retailer. I think both the SSG and the HM will enjoy their new home in London very much indeed.

When everything had been shifted, BP and I went to get takeout from a nearby Pizza Express, and promptly wolfed everything down, before sinking onto her couch for a Friends DVD marathon, feeling totally wiped out. But the evening got decidedly better when the SSG returned from sending her sister - who had also chipped in for the day - off to Heathrow Airport, whereupon we dimmed the lights, turned the music on, and began savouring the delightful Chablis we got her and also a bottle of Cava.

So, it's hearty congratulations to the SSG and HM for securing such a lovely new home, and best of luck too as they begin their second year in London soon. Wanna know something too? I so wish I could stay on in London for some time to come, especially in such a cool apartment as this, with lovely views. This is the stuff that dreams are made of.

In Vino Veritas

2007-07-18T22:59:00.000Z

Bacchus would have been proud of us. Five wine tastings, a Bombay Sapphire cocktail, plus a tour around the different wine regions of the world – from Georgia, to Bordeaux, Burgundy, the Loire, and then to other parts of the world – the Antipodes, Chile, Argentina, South Africa, the US, and even China and Thailand.

Yup, you heard correctly. So it appears that the Huatongs and the Monsoon Valleys are here to challenge the supremacy of the various Chateaux in France. But I wouldn’t be too worried. SW tried the Chinese wine and almost had to spit it out. The equally adventurous BP had sampled a so-called organic wine earlier, and claims that his headache stemmed directly from it.

We were at the Vinopolis earlier this afternoon for an excellent wine tour. It's located at Bankside, near to Borough Market, within what appears to be old warehouses. Situated nearby was the Wine Wharf, where I had been to earlier, which seems to be part of the same company.

Compared to my two companions, I was decidedly less adventurous, and limited my tasting selections to more well-known varieties, including an Italian negroarmaro, which I have never heard of before, much less encountered. Indeed, apart from that, I certainly came away much better informed about wines and wine-making.

We ended our tour at their amazing shop, which has some of the widest selection of whiskies I’ve ever seen. Selections from all over Scotland, from the Lowlands to the Highlands, from the Speyside to Skye. Arrayed there on the shelves, it sure was a spectacular visual feast. Well, don’t just take my word for it. Professional whiskey drinker SW was bowled over by the entire place, and he’s certain to be back.

We moved next to the wine store, where we got a bottle of Chablis Grand Cru “Valmur” 2004 from Domaine Christian Moreau, which we intend to present to the SSG tomorrow as she moves out of Goodenough College to her new spanking apartment at Shad Thames across the river, to begin – sorry, to resume her life as a super-duper sibeh dualiap corporate lawyer.

Bankside had more to offer. After leaving Vinopolis, we headed into nearby Southwark Cathedral for a quick shuftie around the historic complex, and then settled down for dinner at the Anchor pub, accompanied by a jug of Pimms. But the day wasn’t at an end yet, for there was a screening of Ocean’s Thirteen waiting for us at the Cineworld Haymarket further away at Piccadilly.

It was pretty okay, but not as riveting or memorable as Ocean’s Eleven. The plot was less than gripping, the dialogue was vapid, and you know what the biggest problem was? The lack, except for a sagging Ellen Barkin, of any attractive female lead. No babes. None whatsoever. No wonder some critics panned it.

Kensington and Chelsea

2007-07-18T10:02:00.000Z

Amazingly, I returned yesterday to Royal China on Queensway for more dim sum, this time with the SW and BP in tow. The three of us gulped down a wide selection of dishes, including three full dishes of fried carrot cake. And methinks that still ain’t enough…

After lunch, I took a Circle Line train down to Sloane Square in the posh borough of Kensington and Chelsea. It’s a place I'm somewhat familiar with, having lived on nearby Culford Gardens while on holiday in London a few years ago, back when my sister and brother-in-law maintained a ground floor flat there.

King’s Road, which radiates from Sloane Square, is where I’m told true Londoners go to shop. Oxford Street? Nah, that’s for the tourists. And indeed, one hardly meets anyone on King’s Road who's standing there, looking out for street signs, or clutching hesitantly onto a map. There’s lots more elbow room as well, which makes a walk down the street a most pleasant experience.

Leaving the Tube station, I walk past Hugo Boss, confident in my supreme inability to afford anything there, and head instead to the huge Peter Jones diagonally across. Further down, there’s a new development called the Duke of York Square, which comes with a giant Zara outlet, including Zara Home.

But lest anyone misunderstands, I wasn’t there solely for the shopping. Heh. A short walk down King’s Road, and then after a left turn, one reaches the National Army Museum, which ranks perhaps as among London’s lesser-known attractions, especially when compared to the much larger Imperial War Museum. But here, visitors can get a good recounting of British military history, from the middle ages to the present, with a focus on the individual foot soldier.

The Museum is located next to the Royal Hospital Chelsea, home of the famous Chelsea Pensioners. Indeed, I actually saw one of them, clad in that distinctive bright scarlet coat, walking past me in an imperious manner. What a sight. What history. Chelsea!

I Couldn't Get To The Books

2007-07-16T21:38:00.001Z

My first assignment in government too many years ago saw me taking on a policy oversight role for Singapore’s national library system. Well, we all have to start somewhere. And in the course of my work, I began to learn more about the public libraries in other countries, including the famous British Library, which was then shifting to new spanking premises at St Pancras in London.

That’s actually only a ten minute walk from where I now live. And yet I’ve never even been there before. But with time available today, I made a very belated trip to the British Library to check things out for myself.

The complex is certainly new and modern, and very professionally managed, but I think we in Singapore have got a much prettier new National Library building, and one which is certainly more welcoming. Over here, one has to register and obtain a pass before being permitted to enter any of its reading rooms. What a drag.

So I didn’t actually get to see any books. But I did check out the gift shop and bookstore, plus the permanent exhibition of ancient literary artefacts from around the world – old religious texts, early editions of classic works, handwritten letters, old maps, even musical scores. The most famous exhibit was the two copies of the Magna Carta, dating from 1215.

When I begin work on my dissertation, I may well find myself back at the British Library, but armed with the necessary pass to enter. So perhaps it’s not good bye as yet.

One Sunday in July

2007-07-15T23:53:00.001Z

London is getting hot. And good news that’s certainly not. It’s beginning to feel like home, where I walk around constantly perspiring, with a thin yet sticky film of sweat permanently on my skin. It’s been a rainy summer so far, and therefore somewhat cool, but I sure am not looking forward to warmer weather.

That aside, the day was nice. It began with me meeting up with three friends from class for a nice dim sum lunch at my favourite Royal China on Queensway, after which we tried to walk off what we put in by trundling to nearby Portobello Market. Lunch today was good, but I think I need to look for another excuse to head back soon for more of the carrot cake, in particular.

My jaunt through London’s major museums continued in the afternoon, when, after the abortive attempt earlier in the week, I stepped successfully into the Natural History Museum in South Kensington, with no strange force holding me back this time.

The museum occupies a grand and impressive building, with ornate architecture. This is high Victorian Gothic, with huge brown halls containing the requisite displays of dinosaur bones to impress the children, plus other exhibits on humans, animals and the natural environment. But much as I was keen, I couldn’t stay for long. With no air conditioning, the place felt increasingly like an oven, and I had to bid an unglamorous exit.

The day ended with me joining GNK+1 and his other half for a screening of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Well, we all know what’s in the movie, so it’s enough for me merely to say “Hmmm. Hermoine!”

Potraits of a Noisy Digression

2007-07-14T23:02:00.000Z

It’s been a loud and sweaty evening. I’ve just returned from Digress, a hot and happening club on Beak Street, off Regent Street in Piccadilly, where Miss Manchester – a good friend from class – was celebrating her birthday. I’m glad I got there early enough to speak with her, to be introduced to her lovely sister, and to lay my hands on a sublime mojito.

For not only did my other friends from class start streaming in thereafter, but also half of London, it seemed, a large proportion of whom appeared to be young ladies out on a hen night, with bunny ears on, bodies grinding and gyrating to the beat, and a drink in hand. The place was so crowded that I gave up trying to get a refill. This was obviously a place where the beautiful people of London hang out on a Saturday evening. Not bad at all.

While heading there on the Tube train, I peered up from my paper, and found myself surrounded by men in brown tweed jackets and ladies with long, monotone flowing dresses. Have I journeyed back in time? For they were all smartly dressed in clothing from the first half of the 20th century. Somewhere in the city, a costume party must be going on.

Earlier in the day, I was at the National Portrait Gallery, which continues to amaze me. It’s not my first visit there, but I’ve never had the opportunity to check out its permanent collections in depth, which represent a virtual tour through British history. Consider that if only the rich and powerful end up having only commissioned portraits of themselves made, it was no wonder that the galleries featured Kings and Queens aplenty, from the Tudor era onwards, plus a good sprinkling of Prime Ministers and politicians, generals and thinkers, scientists and writers.

There are even links to Singapore. At an earlier visit, I was led to the famous portrait of Stamford Raffles – the one which we are all familiar with, featuring him looking magisterial and eminently comfortable with himself.

This time round, I chanced upon a portrait by the great John Singer Sargeant of Frank Swettenham, a colonial administrator in Singapore and the Malay states a hundred years ago.

When I saw it, I had a great sense of deja vu. Something seems strange. Doesn’t the National Heritage Board in Singapore also claim a portrait by Sargeant of Swettenham as among its most prized possessions? Hmmmm.

This question is this - Did Sargeant paint two versions of the same painting? Or is there only one version? Some sleuthing was called for. And according to accounts here and here, the one in Singapore is the real McCoy, with the National Portrait Gallery version being a three-quarter sized scaled-down version intended for Swttenham’s private collection.

Mystery solved : )

Knightsbridge

2007-07-13T18:18:00.000Z

I boarded a Piccadilly Line Tube train this afternoon, intending to get off at South Kensington, where I’d thought I’d visit the Natural History Museum to look at old fossils and minerals. But a strange force came over me, and I exited the train a stop early at Knightsbridge, and I found myself walking towards Harrods instead.

An enjoyable afternoon was to be had amidst the many floors of this most remarkable of departmental stores, with its lavish food halls, opera-singing staff members, and a weird and very life-like wax work of its boss Mohamed Al Fayed. I headed to the basement alcohol section, whereupon I came across a bottle of sancerre, priced to the moon, reminding me that this was one of the Singapore Doctor's favourite wines. I think it's his birthday tomorrow, so let's hope he's celebrating it with good friends and great company.

Through the many many levels and sections in Harrods, I thought to myself that if I had a million pounds, I could sure spend quite a bit more time inside within these lavish, enticing surroundings. But it was not to be, this perverse, fanciful fantasy, and so I exited, humbly, picking up my free copy of the London Paper for the anonymous ride back to Russell Square.

The Guns of Lambeth

2007-07-12T23:00:00.000Z

I went with GNK+1 today to the Imperial War Museum in South London for my first visit in seven years. It remains a very impressive institution, and, best of all, like many other museums in this great city, has free admission.

We sauntered through the basement exhibits on the First and Second World Wars, before proceeding upstairs, past the display on spies and special forces, to two exhibits which I was keen to check out.

The first was a special commemorative exhibition on the Falklands War, organized in conjunction with its 25th anniversary. It a war which I know something about, having taken place just as I was becoming familiar with developments in the world beyond me. And I remember, all those years back then, tracking the course of the war, reading up on it afterward, and being impressed by Britain’s resolve.

Yes, I’ll admit as much. The Anglophile in me was supportive of Britain’s decision to send a huge armada southwards, ten thousand miles away, to retake the islands, in the face of fierce Argentine opposition. But with the Royal Navy having been reduced so significantly in size since, one wonders if the UK would be able to mount a similar effort right now.

The final gallery we ventured into was the museum’s Holocaust Exhibition, which we both found rather sobering. It includes a large model of the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp, reminding me of my time there in the late summer of 2005, when I was simply bowled over by the enormous scale of the entire facility – a place singularly dedicated to the industrial annihilation of an entire people.

Die Hard Some More

2007-07-11T20:52:00.000Z

Joined BP and GNK+1 at the Surrey Quays Odeon this afternoon for a screening of Die Hard 4.0, featuring the aging, sagging and now totally bald Bruce Willis in his fourth outing as Detective John McClane. Can it really be 12 years since Die Hard With A Vengeance? Good grief. And almost 20 years since he took out the German terrorists on the Nakatomi Plaza in LA?

But this was rollicking good stuff, with lots of action, lots of gore, but not enough of Maggie Q. The heart aches. The plot, such as it is, includes a car taking down a helicopter, and more incredibly, a giant Transformer-like trailer taking down a F35 fighter jet. Amazing innit? And at the end, after lots of blood, the baddie sprawls onto the floor, dead, which was what we had expected all along, with Lucy, McClane’s daughter, being freed at last.

So near the climax of the movie, when all seemed intractable, computer whiz Matt Farrell, whom McClane was protecting, asks if they had a plan or something.

“To rescue Lucy and kill everyone else,” he replies.

What a wonderful line.

Before catching the movie, we tucked in merrily on Vietnamese beef noodles at Café East on the corner of Evelyn Street and the imaginatively-named Lower Road. Hugh bowl of pho, with lots of bean sprouts, mint leaves and coriander liberally thrown in, accompanied by a chendol-liked drink called the che. It was most satisfying. I seem to have Vietnamese noodles only when I’m abroad though. Surely there’s a good place in Singapore for pho? Any ideas where?

Three Nights at the Burn

2007-07-10T11:27:00.000Z

Access to the Burn must surely count as one of the delights of membership at Goodenough College. It’s worth recounting the history of this pretty little place – a place which, after our visit these past days, has led us to hatch scheming plans to take it over by this time next year.

The Burn is nestled in the Angus area of Scotland, bordering the North Sea, south of Aberdeen and north of Dundee, and about 1.5 miles away from the tiny hamlet of Edzell. You do feel rather privileged and distinguished, at first entering its sprawling estate through a narrow gate marked “Private”. It then takes you a full three minutes in the car, meandering through forested grounds, before reaching the historic house.

The Burn was built in 1791 but has since been modernized thoroughly, with an early 20th century feel to it currently. It now features large drawing rooms in the ground floor, plus kitchen and dining rooms, with 18 guest bedrooms upstairs, including the yellow one assigned to me.

The Burn, we’re told, gets its name from the Scottish word for a river or stream, and indeed, there’s a fast flowing river right next to its grounds, with whiskey-coloured water gushing past. A nice foot trail also follows the path of the river.

Before it was taken over by the Goodenough College, the house was owned by the Russell family, who bequeathed it to the College in honour of their son, James, who was killed in action in Italy during the Second World War. What a nice touch – serving to open up this wonderful place for the enjoyment for so many generations of students and scholars since. We were told that they managed the place with up to 50 servants, while a mere 11 staff keep the Burn running now.

So, besides roaming around Scotland, we spent quite a bit of time at the Burn as well, wandering around its grounds, or just lounging around, waiting for the gong which announces that food was to be served.

The bursar at the Burn intoned that he does not run the place like a hotel. He chooses to see it, instead, as a home away from London for members of Goodenough College. Fair enough. But we felt that perhaps he could be more entrepreneurial. There is money to be made from this place, which led us to develop wild and fanciful plans for buying it over with the SSG’s non-imaginary millions.

So we’ve decided. We willl expand and enhance the total Burn experience. The HM will take care of events and entertainment. SW will run the kitchen and provide evening music. GNK will be in charge of security. BP will handle the finances and accounting, and I will manage administration and publicity. And we’ll have Sleeping Beauty be a sleeping partner.

This was a bit of a private joke, but given how boh liao we all were, it brought just quite a bit of mirth and jollity.

Caledonia!

2007-07-09T15:07:00.001Z

More travelling! This time, I joined the gang on a long weekend trip up to the Burn in Scotland – a historic home near Montrose affiliated to Goodenough College – where we had a most marvellous time eating, touring, eating, chatting, eating, chilling and eating…

It’s good always to get out of London, and to be reminded that the UK is more than its capital city, no matter how dominant it is. Indeed, Scotland is very different, with its own parliament, legal system, history, and even dialect. We encountered the thick Scots accents, to which we responded with our equally incomprehensible Singlish.

We arrived on Thursday evening after a long train from London, with miserable weather awaiting us, especially on Friday, when we drove 92 miles southward to Edinburgh. What should have been a straight-forward two hour journey turned out to be much worse, as we got caught in a huge traffic tailback caused by people heading to the T In The Park, a massive music gathering in the style of England’s Glastonbury Festival.

Nonetheless, we got to Edinburgh in time for a good pub lunch, and, with pouring rain, we walked up and down the Royal Mile, taking in sights such as the Edinburgh Castle and St Giles Cathedral.

Better weather greeted us Saturday. We spent the morning on an early visit to Fettercairn Distillery, established in 1824, where we got a pretty good tour of the entire complex. Unfortunately, the Distillery was on its summer break, with no actual production being carried out. But I did come away with a good bottle of a twelve year old single malt.

Thereafter, it was onto the ruins of the 13th century Dunnottar Castle, less than two miles south of Stonehaven in Aberdeenshire. It occupies a dramatic perch off the cliffs overlooking the North Sea, conjuring up for those of us raised on a diet of Enid Blyton images of Famous Five or Secret Seven adventures, with secret, desolate coves and ruin remains.

After lunch at Stonehaven, we headed down south to St Andrews, home of golf and also the site of more ruins – this time the St Andrew’s Cathedral.

I shall not belabour the point here, but the trip was kinda poignant, as this was certainly the last time that the few of us would be able to travel together in such numbers. Quite a few are preparing to leave the college, with the academic year having come to a close. Time passes, and while there are regrets, those many happy moments we shared, many of them infused with alcohol, shall remain with me forever.

Travel Notes: We journeyed up to Scotland on board a GNER train departing London King’s Cross Station. Accommodation for three nights at the Burn, a historic home affiliated to the Goodenough College. Car rental of a Ford Galaxy for all six of us provided by Bill Stephen Motors of Brechin.

The Lovely Miss Stockholm

2007-07-03T17:14:00.001Z

One thing was clear – Stockholm was a much lovelier city than Oslo. HM, BP and I boarded a train from Oslo’s Sentralstasjon last Friday morning and headed first to Karlstad across the border in Sweden, before hopping onto another train that took us directly to Stockholm. The SSG, who had to return to London earlier, ended up missing the stunning sight which greeted us – the outline of a splendid city surrounded by water, shimmering in the setting sun.

We spent the next few days on a constant battle with the weather, which swung from foul and pouty rain to bright and alluring sunshine. I realize these terms may sound weird, but we got into our head, somehow, that Stockholm was a pretty young lady with constantly changing moods. It was a silly running joke, but who could have imagined that the symbol for the city was actually a young lady, looking askance, with a crown on top of her head. And needless to say, she was entirely blonde and yellow. It was rather comical, yet charming.

Many of the main sights of the city were clustered around the medieval core, located on the Gamla Stan island, including the Riddarholms Church – burial ground for past Swedish royalty – the charming Stortorget town square, now surrounded by restaurants, but also the site of a bloody massacre in 1520, and many other fine public buildings.

Of course, the main draw there was the Royal Palace (Kungliga Slottet), reputed to be one of the largest in Europe. It commanded a prime corner spot on Gamla Stan, surrounded by water on two sides. We ventured in and took tours of the Hall of State and the State Apartments, and on Sunday, the Treasury, where the Swedish crown jewels were exhibited, and the Tre Kroner museum, where the history of the present castle and its antecedents is retold.

Interestingly, the palace even comes with an official royal gift shop, where memorabilia on the royal family was available. We got a large postcard of Prince Carl Philip for the SSG, while I lingered over the images of his younger sister, Madeleine, who was a total chio bu.

With time remaining on Saturday, we crossed over to the Mordena Museet and checked out a nice slate of 20th century masterpieces, with all the big stars represented, such as Mondrain, Klee and Picasso. Then it was on to a nice Royal Canal Cruise, which basically circumnavigated the Djugården island.

A firm highlight of our day on Sunday was our visit to the Vasa Museum, which contained the salvaged ship, the Vasa, an enormous Swedish warship which sunk on its maiden voyage in 1628, being resurrected only in 1961, 333 years later. When it was raised, many of the original fittings were still intact, and my guidebook tells me that a salvage officer tried to taste some three century old butter that he found, only to have his mouth develop a series of sores.

On this note, it’s worth mentioning two restaurants where we dined at while in Stockholm. First, Melanders Fisk, which occupies a nice location on the edge of Gamla Stan on the Skeppsbron. And what’s good there? The Swedish meatballs, the smoked prawns on toast, and the selection of Baltic herring. Yum.

Another place was the Kaffegillet, behind the main cathedral, set in an old medieval house, with an 18th century front dining room and a rear 14th century cellar with more seating available.

Stockholm has been an enjoyable and relaxing place. Some observations of the Swedes – everyone we met spoke in impeccable English, but they appeared a rather reserved bunch. Frequently, whether in restaurants or in the train, we found them talking only in hushed and polite tones. The place was clean, the atmosphere was elegant, and the people were friendly. And as the sun shone long into the day, I thought to myself, “This, I say, is a truly civilized place.”

Travel Notes: We stayed at the Quality Hotel Globe, located near the Globe Arena outside of central Stockholm, and travelled around the city with a three day pass on the Stockholm underground, the Tunnelbana. Return flight to London on board Ryanair, departing from Västerås airport outside Stockholm.

Northward to Norway

2007-07-02T20:18:00.001Z

And so the SSG, HM, BP and I decided to head up to Norway and Sweden for a nice mid-summer Scandinavian holiday, for this would be the last time the four of us would have the chance to get together at length before we each leave our current perch in London, bringing to an end this most delightful past few months at Goodenough.

We didn’t manage to drink much, given Norway’s strict licensing laws, but we certainly did lots of talking cock, revealing our silly sides to each other, and progressively picking up Portuguese and Malay swear words from the HM, while enjoying the most relaxing of jaunts through this northern expense of Europe.

We spent the first night at Asker, a town set on high ground on the outskirts of Oslo, overlooking the Oslofjorde channel, and upon arriving, we got right down to serious business.

Asker was quiet and pretty, providing us with much walking ground to cover, plus the first of many ice creams too. The SSG went ga-ga over the many sailing vessels moored at the marina there, and started fantasizing about buying a summer property there. Given her spectacular earning power, none of us felt that was it was an impossible dream.

When we got into Oslo the next day, Friday, we walked through the inner city core, down the pedestrianized Karl Johanns Gate, towards the Royal Palace and Gardens, and then to the Town Hall Square, the Rådhusplassen, where we boarded an evening cruise round the harbour, and promptly overdosed on prawns.

But we managed to tear ourselves away from the food to enjoy the attractive watery scenes which greeted us. I can imagine, though, that in winter, when the sun barely shines, and everything is frozen, and all is brooding and bleak, the atmosphere would be very different.

The following day, we visited the Nasjonalgalleriet, where one of Edvard Munch’s Scream was on display. It’s good that he painted a few versions of this most iconic of images, given that they seem to get stolen with alarming recurrence. In fact, there was an entire room devoted to his masterworks, including other famous pieces such as the Madonna.

We headed next to the nearby Historisk Museum, where a collection of pre-modern Viking era artefacts was on display, whereupon a strange force possessed the HM to go knocking upon an 800 year old wooden door, apparently oblivious to the old museum rule of See No Touch. She was roundly admonished by the jagas on duty.

After a nice al fresco lunch at a spectacularly un-Norwegian place – which we’re too ashamed to mention – we proceed onward past roads with stately 19th century homes to one of Oslo’s greatest attractions, the Viegeland Park, an open air sculpture park containing many different human forms, including a tall column of bodies. Deviant minds might conjure up decadent thoughts, but I can assure you we were thoroughly sober and sane.

Travel Notes: We left London Stansted for the Torp Airport in Sandefjord, south of Oslo, on board a Ryanair flight. Incredibly, the SSG secured us special discount tickets costing 1 penny each, inclusive of tax. I kid you not. In Asker, we stayed at the Quality Hotel Leangkollen, while in Oslo, we put up at the Thon Hotel Spectrum, a short walk away from the main train station.

A Musical Flourish

2007-06-24T21:41:00.000Z

Janáček’s Sinfonietta was simply an amazing wonder. I’ve heard extracts from the work before on the radio, particularly the opening brass fanfare. But this truly monumental work can only be fully appreciated when performed live, which was what I encountered this evening.

Enormous forces were arrayed. I counted eight double basses and ten trumpets, and let’s not forget to mention the horns and trombones and tubas as well. The work comes in five movements, and at the closing Andante Con Moto, the original fanfare theme is once again sounded, but with even more dramatic energy and force, resulting in a cavalcade and cacophony of brilliant, brilliant sounds.

Mere words cannot describe the experience. Neither can a lousy CD recording. One has to be there in person, fused to the seat, ready to receive the astonishing revelation.

The parents and I had been attending a concert at the Royal Festival Hall in the newly refurbished South Bank Centre. Also on the menu was the intensely German opening overture to Wagner’s Meistersinger von Nürnberg and Mozart’s Piano Concert No. 25, performed by the legendary Mitsuko Uchida. Serving up the delights was the Philharmonia Orchestra, resident at South Bank, under chef and conductor Sir Charles Mackerras.

The orchestra arranged themselves in an interesting order. For instance - from the perspective of the audience - the double basses stood at the rear of the stage, instead of the percussion section, the members of which were sprinkled throughout. Flanking the conductor on right were the second violins, not the cellos. The harpist sat on the extreme right hand side of the stage, and not the traditional left. Heck. I had always encountered lady harpists, but the Philharmonia had a fat, greying middle-aged man play the part instead.

But all in all, we left the Royal Festival Hall, impressed, walking into the summer twilight of a wet London evening. The parents leave for home tomorrow, and I sure hope they enjoyed themselves these past two weeks, first in England with the sister, and then in the Northern Baltics and London with me.

Earlier in the day, I had taken the two of them to Hampstead for a nice pub lunch at the Freemasons Arms, the same place which I failed to get in earlier in the month. We each tried out the roast beef, and I think none of us came away disappointed. The Freemasons Arms is one of London’s premier gastropubs, with a classy setting in the middle of one of the city’s most handsome districts.

My Sunday pub mates are slowly leaving London one by one, and I need to go look for new partners. It’s been interesting as well to visit different pubs, each with its own unique character. I hear of those who have made it their passion to visit all pubs in Britain. I think I’d be happy if I could get to visit just five percent of London’s pubs during my time here.

Wicked in London

2007-06-23T21:40:00.001Z

The parents are now in London, and I spent part of today with them catching a matinee performance of Wicked. This is a new award-winning musical production, based loosely upon a novel which was based, in turn, on the more famous tale of the Wizard of Oz.

I think it was a pretty decent and enjoyable act, taking place at the Apollo Victoria theatre, located away from the West End theatric core. The complex was larger and more modern than many its old and cramped counterparts further north. The stage design and setting was very impressive, but I can’t say I came away with any memorable melodies in my head.

London on a Saturday afternoon in summer was extremely crowded and messy, a far cry from the sedate Tallinn and Helsinki just days ago. The Tube was packed to capacity, and there was so much noise, and color and people around. My mum found it overwhelming, and I guess this city isn’t a place for one to settle down for a relaxing break. Instead, your senses are assaulted from all angles.

But a large part of me relishes the experience tremendously. I have so much to do, so much to see, and even more to eat in the coming couple of months.

Back in Tallinn

2007-06-21T12:28:00.000Z

Our final day back in Tallinn gave us the chance to tour the Old Town once more. We had a different hotel this time round, the Tallink, located near a large and modern shopping mall. And fair skies greeted us upon our return – a severe contrast to our first day there – although by the next morning, dark clouds had rolled in again.

I can see why the Old Town has received so much acclaim. I’ve walked on many ancient streets in Europe before, but rarely have I been in a place which reeks so heavily of the mediaeval. We’re talking about the 13th to the 15th centuries here – far older than many other cities. The age is evident in the architecture of the churches, for instance, which look far simpler and austere than the ornate baroque or classical churches we’ve found elsewhere. So, all in all, the streets were rather lovely, even charming.

We had a nice and relaxing outdoor dinner on Wednesday at the Balthasar, a newish restaurant located in an old medieval house right next to the central town square. And its speciality? Garlic! My kind of place, definitely.

This was what we had at the beginning – a selection of bread rolls, with creamy garlic butter.

Then came the fish soup. Yum.

And finally, my beef fillet, pervaded with garlic. Heh.

Cанкт Петербург

2007-06-21T05:46:00.000Z

I’m here in Tallinn again for a brief layover before returning to London, still not quite believing that I had actually spent the past four days in St Petersburg. I guess it’s just a place that I never thought I would return to, but right now, I’m already looking back at a pretty interesting and memory-rich trip into the past.

All the old sights I first encountered seven years ago were still there – including the stunning Palace Square outside the Winter Palace. When I first saw a postcard image of the Square, with its imposing Alexander Column, my attention was seized instantly, and I knew it was a place I just had to visit. For who could have imagined that a city of such palatial grandeur could exist in such relatively obscurity in Europe?

But of course, perhaps some don’t consider Russia to be part of Europe. Certainly many Russians don’t. But that’s getting into another deeper discussion altogether. However, when St Petersburg was built as a new capital for the country – by Peter the Great, in fact – it was done consciously to steer Russia towards European enlightenment, away from “Asiatic” Moscow.

And what a great city was erected along the Neva river, upon which a flourishing court, cultural and artistic life soon developed. But many of us are also familiar with the convulsions it’s gone through, visible in the name changes from the Germanic St Petersburg, to the Russified Petrograd, and then to the Communist-inspired Leningrad, before reverting back to St Petersburg after the fall of Communism.

The Palace Square itself might look entirely anodyne today, but a hundred years ago, in 1905, Russian peasants had gathered there to petition the Tsar, only to find themselves targets for his soldiers and their guns, in what turned out to be a bloody Tiananmen on the Baltic. That was also the event which inspired Shostakovitch’s monumental Symphony No. 11, which I count as one of my favourites.

When I was last in St Petersburg, it was a different time in my life, and much has changed since. I was with someone else then, and now, I’m travelling with my parents. Unfortunately for them, in terms of comfort, St Petersburg cannot compare with Helsinki or with Tallinn. The streets are visibly grubbier, the tap water is totally undrinkable, and although there were quite a few head turners around, the people are generally, well, rougher and gruffer.

The language difference doesn’t help, and I had to re-learn my Cyrillic alphabet in order to read the street and other public signs. But it’s kinda neat, once you get the hang of it. For instance, Nevsky Prospect, the main city artery and shopping thoroughfare, is rendered as Hевский Просрект in Russian.

Together with the parents, I reprised some of the trails I did back in 2000, swinging by the St Issac’s Cathedral, the Kazan Cathedral, the St Nicholas Church and the Church of Spilled Blood, along with a visit to the Peter and Paul Fortress, where the tombs of the Romanov Tsars can be found. This time round, we checked out the Menshikov Palace, but it was a palace definitely worth missing.

One of the highlights of this return visit was a trip back to the Hermitage, probably one of the world’s greatest art museums, ranking alongside the Louvre of France in terms of the comprehensiveness of its cultural holdings. On display were sizeable quantities of Old Masters, such as Rembrant and Titian and what about this incomparable Matisse, La Danse, which, with its strong tones, heightens the drama and concentration of the dancers, totally lost in their movements.

Perhaps one reason why my previous visit to St Petersburg had seemed to surreal, so different from my other travels, was that it was a place infused with so much meaning and mysticism, symbolic of the deep and rich culture that is Russia. You get a sense of that right away when you step into a darkened Orthodox church, suffused with incense, replete with iconography, and swarming with the pious and the penitent. Some things seem beyond comprehension, but this return trip has, however, made it more real for me.

Travel Notes: We took a daytime train, the Sibelius, from Helsinki to St Petersburg’s Finland Station, the very station Lenin stepped out from when he made his triumphant arrival in St Petersburg in April 1917. Our hotel was as the Dostoevsky, located on Vladimirsky Prospect, opposite the Vladimir Church. Nice pancakes to be had at Teremok, with a few chains across the city.

Rampant in Helsinki

2007-06-16T18:26:00.000Z

It really takes some getting used to. When you head to bed late at night, the sky is bright. When you toss and turn in the middle of your sleep, opening an eye, the sky still kinda seems lit up. And when you finally wake up early in the morning, the sky is already sunny. It’s pretty amazing.

So this is Finland - land of a thousand lakes, land of Nokia, and land of cool Nordic blondes. I’m in Helsinki right now, in the week leading up to the summer solstice, when the days are at their longest of the year. And with this city being so far north, the sun hardly sets. It makes for a rather pleasant experience in this most pleasant and agreeable of cities. Nice, clean, bustling, obviously prosperous, and, after Estonia, with perfect weather.

Finland’s history resembles that its immediate southern neighbour, with tales of foreign occupation – first by the Swedes, and later by the Russians. In fact, many of us may know of Finland and of Finnish nationalism because of one tune, and one person – Finlandia, that stirring work by Jean Sibelius, who was born, ironically, into a Swedish-speaking family. Today, only about six percent of Finnish citizens are Swedes, but both languages have official status, with road signs and official names rendered in both Finnish – a totally inscrutable language related only to Estonian and more distantly, to Hungarian – and Swedish, which bears greater resemblance to English.

And so we ventured to the Sibelius memorial, located in a picturesque park just slightly north of the city centre. It wasn’t a conventional monument which greeted us. Instead, we found a pipe-like installation, plus a metal cast bust of the great composer’s face, with, well, things sticking out on both sides. What were they? Our guide informed us reliably that they were supposed to represent Sibelius’ thoughts...

Downtown, and sitting at the top of the main Senate Square, above steep steps, was the all-white Lutheran Helsinki Cathedral, which commands a good view of the city. This is probably Helsinki’s most famous icon, built in the shape of a Greek crucifirm, but only one of its many architectural offerings. There were many many others.

We also wandered through other parts of the city, checking out the Market Square by the harbour, walking past the park by the Töölönlathi lake (I have no idea how to pronounce that!), and the incomparable Temppeliaukio Church, carved into solid rock. Throughout our jaunt through the city, there were no communicaition problems at all, with the Finns of Helsinki appearing very conversant in English.

We spent the afternoon at Porvoo – pictured above – a town some 50km east of Helsinki, founded next to a river in the 14th century, with a heavy Swedish presence. Many of the old and narrow streets remain. In the 19th century, Porvoo became a haven for many notable artists and intellectuals, including painter Albert Edelfelt and Finland’s national poet, Johan Ludvig Runeberg. Since I can’t read what he wrote, I enjoyed another of his legacies – the Runeberg Tart. Hee. It’s a tasty piece of Finnish pastry, small and cylindrical, with jam and a suger ring on top. Absolutely delectable.

Travel Notes: We managed the sea crossing to Helsinki from Tallinn under two hours in a fast Superseacat ferry. Accommodation at the extremely agreeable Hotel Sokos Presidentti, which offers free wireless Internet surfing. It’s located next to the new Kamppi shopping centre, where we had a very good time dining at the Empire Plaza and at Minos.

Rampant in Tallinn

2007-06-15T18:05:00.001Z

I’m on a tour right now with the parents through the Northern Baltics. Our first stop yesterday was in Tallinn, capital of Estonia. It was my first visit to an ex-Soviet state, apart from Russia itself, but I can’t really give a fair account of the city. Landing in the afternoon after a flight to London, we were greeted with miserable weather, the grey skies giving way soon to a torrential downpour.

Tallinn has, reputedly, one of the best preserved mediaeval town centres of Europe, one worth checking out, without the hordes that now descend onto places like Prague, so I’m told. We did an afternoon walking tour through the city, past sites such as Toompea Castle, which serves as the current Parliament House, the Tall Hermann’s Tower next to it, and the Town Hall Square, reaching it only after winding our way through narrow and wet cobblestone streets.

This is a small country of less than a million and a half inhabitants, of which only about two thirds are ethnic Estonians. The rest are mainly Russians, who found themselves on the wrong side of the border when the Soviet Union disintegrated. In the run up to this trip, both countries had been involved in a cyberwar, with Russian hackers attacking parts of the Estonian electronic infrastructure, after the government in Tallinn decided to remove a memorial to Soviet soldiers from the Second World War from its prominent central location.

I guess it makes for difficult relations between both communities. Our guide, a former Estonian teacher, seemed pretty strident in her anti-Communism, even talking about how her family had once been scheduled for deportation. In fact, hearing her account of Estonian history, you’re reminded of the fate small countries invariably suffer from, with this small territory having been occupied successively by the Danes, the Swedes, the Germans and then the Russians. Apart from the interwar interlude, independence was only secured in 1991.

The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral – a Russian orthodox cathedral pictured above – occupied prime high ground, directly opposite Toompea Castle. It’s a striking building, worth celebrating for religious, historical and aesthetic reasons, but to Estonians, it serves only to remind them of earlier attempts to russify their country. Our guide, who seemed happy to take us into the nearby Cathedral of Saint Mary the Virgin – which was itself full of hatchments belonging to foreign nobility – was resolute in not entering the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral with us.

That evening, we had dinner at Olde Hansa – referring to the Hanseatic League – a charming mediaeval-themed restaurant, in which every part of the décor, the menu, even the loos, were done up to provide an atmosphere of ages past. If only I had taken a photo or two within. But never mind. The meat soup I had was good, as was my duck, and the bread with garlic butter. Plus, we had a very young and pretty waitress serving us, clad delightfully in mediaeval robes. Heh.

It’s not goodbye to Tallinn or to Estonia yet. We’ll be back in about five or six days, spending another night there before we return to London. Let’s hope the weather clears up by then. This city really deserves a much closer look. And I’ve not even gotten any souvenir pieces yet. I play the part of a tourist very well indeed.

Travel Notes: We journeyed to Estonia as part of a tour of the Northern Baltics, organized by Travel Editions in the UK. Direct flights from London Gatwick to Tallinn are available from Estonian Air, with good accommodation at the Grand Hotel Tallinn, located just outside the inner city.

Cars in Canary Wharf

2007-06-12T19:31:00.000Z

Here’s an image of my dream car, the Aston Martin V8 Vantage. How often have I lingered over her sleek lines, jaw dropping, dreaming of being able to floor it and head to heaven and back.

But since it’s entirely permissible to be promiscuous in these matters, here’s another dream car of mine, the new BMW M6. Not bad eh? And the selling price in the UK? A wee £87,000.

And of course I have more dream cars : ) Unfortunately, cars are probably the only items that cost more in Singapore than they do in London, hideously expensive though this city is. And what a veritable smorgasbord of cars the SSG and I saw this afternoon, when we ventured east along the Jubilee Line to Canary Wharf, venue for the London MotorExpo 2007. The weather was brilliant and the crowds were thin and the cars were encased not in some giant warehouse, but were instead displayed all around the parks and squares around Canary Wharf, amidst the people and towers in the area. All in all, a very lovely setting.

And all the major marques were there – from the BMWs and Mercedes Benz and the Audis to the posh Maybachs, Maseratis and Morgans.

It was cool just sauntering around all the metallic marvels, and wondering what could have been, if only I had more money. Of course, the SSG, who will be staying on in London, has set her sights on a BMW Z4, and she made sure she conveyed her preferences to one of the sales staff here.

One of the really fun bits came when we stumbled upon a demonstration area set up by Land Rover. Of course, I’ve spent way too many nights cooped up in green Land Rovers (Defender series), back when I was in the army. But the vehicles on display here were radically different. Here a Range Rover was put through a series of gravity-defying stunts, like climbing and down up a 35 degree ramp, and driving along a steep incline. They were offering free joyrides, and the SSG and I hardly hesitated in lining up for the (cheap) thrill.

After an enjoyable afternoon at Canary Wharf, the SSG and I linked up with the CM, HM and the GNK at Shiok, the Singaporean restaurant on Southampton Row. Four out of the five of us settled on the chicken mee soto, which came with nice slices of cut chili and a tremendously fulfilling broth. It really was very good. The folks there took a liking to us – because of the presence of the beautiful ladies, they claimed – and we were treated two dessert dishes on the house.

I’m really going to miss London so much when I leave this place three months from now.

Lunch At The Easton

2007-06-10T20:08:00.000Z

After a pretty long absence, we got together this Sunday afternoon for a most enjoyable and satisfying pub lunch at the Easton. We were blessed once more with gracious weather, good food and great company. Part of the reason for the gathering today was to bid a friendly farewell to the Singapore Doctor, who will soon leave London and resume his highly profitable upstairs and downstairs practice back home. He shall be remembered for things like blue sofas, blue ropes and the striking blue polo shirt of today. He's been fun to have around, having joined us on quite a few trips over the past months, and, with any luck, having also picked up some semblance of a Singlish-speaking ability. Heh.

The Easton lived up to its fine reputation. Today I ordered a serving of pork belly, and was rewarded with a huge and succulent slab, accompanied by some of the best roast potatoes I’ve tasted. After this and the meaty meal the evening before, it’s no wonder I had to go on a long run to the Gherkin later in the afternoon. But for now, it’s time to put thoughts of food away, and focus instead on the looming assignments. How wonderful appetizing. My mouth’s simply watering with eager anticipation.

Mecklenburgh Smokeout

2007-06-09T23:40:00.001Z

Today turned out to be one of those eat-until-burst kind of days. The weather was kind and the sun lingered long in the sky. The ever capable GNK had arranged a lovely barbecue over at the park on Mecklenburgh Square just outside my hall. Putting aside my shitty essay, I sauntered in and then ended up having way too many helpings of salad, sausages, stingrays, beef chops and chicken wings. And potato chips too. And beer. Wah lau. And since I’m now too full to write more, let’s just enjoy this brief series of images from this most lovely of gatherings.

From Harvey to Leila

2007-06-07T22:33:00.001Z

Leila Josefowicz looked sexy and stunning tonight. Dressed in an elegant light-colored gown, she cradled her violin seductively from the stage at – yes, again – the Royal Albert Hall, accompanied by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.

Unfortunately, the sight of the lovely Leila was probably one of the few rare highlights in an otherwise unsatisfying concert. I had thought I’d try my luck again at securing tickets to the College’s regular box at the Albert Hall. The programme featured works which I was familiar with – Beethoven’s Egmont Overture, followed by his lovely Violin Concerto, and then came Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition.

I can’t say that her rendition of this famous violin piece was flawless. It lacked a certain intensity and passion, and the less than perfect acoustics of the venue certainly did not help. I felt her tones were rather raspy and dry, and had my suspicions confirmed when I learnt later that she owned an early 1739 Guarneri, which might have been what she was playing on earlier in the evening.

Pictures at an Exhibition was a work originally written by Mussorgsky for four-handed piano, and the orchestral version we’re more familiar with today was arranged later by Ravel. Listening to the stirring Great Gate of Kiev, which concludes the piece, summoning the full powers of the symphony orchestra, you wonder how on earth it could ever have been limited to the keyboard.

But what we had was a rather pedestrian and prosaic performance. It was hardly inspiring at all. The applause that came from the half-empty auditorium at the end was decidedly polite, and the evening closed without an encore, which was probably just as well. This was certainly not one of my better nights out.

I had a much better time at the pre-concert dinner. We stepped onto the rooftop terrace of Harvey Nichols for the price-fixe menu, available from 6pm onwards. Amazingly, I’ve never been inside this august establishment before, located at the corner of Knightsbridge and Sloan Street, and took a bit of time before eating to do a quick stroll through its many levels.

The place really is very posh and high class, and what struck me was that even the clientele appeared much better dressed and better looking than the ordinary rabble and ruffians on the streets outside. I found my head turning several times even during that quickest of jaunts through the store. “So this is where the beautiful people of London can be found,” I thought to myself.

Even the top floor Food Market was a class act. This ain’t no regular supermarket. Instead, stocked there was a fine selection of wines, pastas, meats and other delicacies, including the shelves of vinegar and oils depicted above. And when the food came, I must say it was rather satisfying. Skipping a starter, I began with a sweet and sour pork dish with basmati rice, and then ended with a nice toffee pudding. You see, when you have good food, life certainly looks much brighter.

Lobster and Waffles

2007-06-07T15:14:00.001Z

It’s so nice to welcome the Cool Mama back to town again. We’ve been meeting over meals and drinks these past few days, catching up on stuff and indulging in boh liao gossiping. And this afternoon, we had a chance to head out to Bayswater, along with the Hot Mama, to go try out Mandarin Kitchen and their famous lobster noodles.

Situated just diagonally opposite the entrance to Queensway Tube station, Mandarin Kitchen has received pretty positive reviews from London’s connoisseurs, judging from reports here and here, but with a dissenting view here. As for me, I’ve heard positive comments about the place from my friends in the hall.

So, it was good to have the opportunity today to appraise the restaurant. When we stepped in just after twelve noon, the 1970s-looking establishment was curiously empty, but a small lunchtime crowd soon started trickling in. Perhaps this place sees better traffic in the evenings and on weekends. The décor was mainly Chinese or oriental, but there were incongruous European-style art pieces on the wall, including a Klee poster closest to where we sat.

The waitress who served us maintained a dubious look throughout the time we were ordering, and when our tea came, there were hardly any leaves in the pot, resulting in a very bland and diluted mix. We had to send it back. This wasn't a very encouraging start, although, at times like this, you’re there as much to enjoy the wonderful company as to savour the food on offer. And the CM and HM were plenty good company.

Our dishes soon arrived, and I must say they were rather good indeed, though not spectacular. A tasty serving of Peking Duck, followed by the signature Lobster Noodles, and a Dou Miao with garlic. I guess I was quite satisfied with how each order was prepared. Mandarin Kitchen wasn’t exactly the cheapest of places, but then I figure there ain’t no cheap lobsters around.

After lunch, we repaired across the street for a sumptuous dessert of waffles and latte at the Waffle House. The CM regaled us with tales of her many neighbours, we debated intently on men, women and relationships, and the HM and I also promised to rope her in when we head out for our prata expeditions in Singapore. Let’s hope we can fix these things up once I return home some months from now.

Don't Be Too Early

2007-06-05T20:45:00.000Z

I’ve just returned from a quick round of evening drinks at the roof terrace of the Grafton Arms, a local pub barely two minutes away from UCL. It was organized by my School’s student society, and was meant to serve as a nice end-of-term get together, before we each head off for the summer, doing our own thing.

Arriving a full half hour after the advertised time, I found myself nonetheless to be the first one there, even earlier than the organizer. Note to self – this is so not cool. Never arrive at a party “early”. Instead, learn how to saunter in much much later, languidly and unhurried.

And indeed, many familiar faces soon emerged, with the stress of the exams over, and we began trading notes about our respective summer plans. I guess I may still see some of them in the coming couple of months. But hopefully, a few might want to visit Singapore in the near future. To many of them, Asia is totally distant and foreign. It would be good to welcome them there one day.

Check Out The Organ!

2007-06-04T22:35:00.001Z

Ventured out yesternight for an organ-themed concert featuring the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra under conductor Robin Stapleton. It turned out to be quite a fun evening. The HM and I grabbed a quick dinner at Daquise, a Polish restaurant on Thurloe Street just next to the South Kensington Tube station, before heading to the Royal Albert Hall, which was packed to capacity.

Looking at the number of silver haired audience members there, it marked a huge contrast to those I encountered just days earlier at the Dave Matthews gig. The HM and I don’t think of ourselves as bright young things anymore, but I can certainly vouch that our presence there last night served definitely to lower the average age of the place.

OK, so I don’t intend to be mean. For it was the organ I was hungering after. The huge and massive erection right behind the orchestral stage, visible throughout the circular performance venue. I think I might have encountered organ music in old baroque churches before, but never have I beheld its full splendour and glory as I did last night.

I love the organ, the king of instruments. I love how it so dominates every other instrument with its deep, rich and sonorous tones. You might even have the entire brass section blasting away, but once the first note of the organ keyboard is pressed, you know who’s boss. It’s unfair. One man on an organ can drown and out perform a hundred-strong orchestra.

The concert was staged to mark the third anniversary of the completion of restoration works for Albert Hall’s grand organ and featured familiar works for solo organ or organ and orchestra, such as Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D, Saint-Saën’s Organ Symphony, Albinoni’s Adagio, Walton’s Crown Imperial, and Clarke’s Trumpet Voluntary.

But the one chief reason which drew me there was Widor’s amazing Toccata from his Fifth Symphony. Wah piang man. Organ music at its purest and finest, and it was a shame that the RPO chose to perform a version adulterated by entirely extraneous orchestral accompaniment. Not familiar with the Toccata? Check out this amateur clip from YouTube – without which life on the Internet would be so much worse : (

The closing work, and, if I may mix my metaphors, the one which brought the house down and which made everyone rise to their feet, was Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1, also known as Land of Hope and Glory, when performed as a choral piece. You can’t get more patriotic and British when this is sung, especially at famous occasions such as the Last Night of the Proms, from which this clip is extracted. When the music reaches its height, the entire house explodes in utter unison – a stirring display of partisan national loyalties and of good fun.

It’s one of those works, I guess, so deeply ingrained into the British psyche, that everyone was able to rise up and bellow out the words from memory. OK, the HM and I stood there stupidly, looking decidedly out of place, mouths definitely silent, while everyone around us – literally everyone – rose up, chest out, intoning those words to the Land of Hope and Glory.

What do we have in comparison? Errr, Stand Up for Singapore? Count On Me Singapore? One People, One Nation, One Singapore? Let’s not even go there. I know we’re a much younger nation, but still…. The National Day songs in recent years have been composed as pop hits, not really the marching, martial hymns most suited for mass singings. We have a long way to go before such alternative anthems can successfully emerge.

But back to last night. This was the second time we found ourselves at the Albert Hall amidst a rendition of Land of Hope and Glory. The only fair thing to do was to head back and google the lyrics. It’s a lengthier piece, but here’s the main knock-em-dead bit:

Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free,

How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?

Wider still, and wider, shall thy bounds be set;

God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet!

Lunch At The Flask

2007-06-04T17:30:00.000Z

It was nice yesterday to be able to resume my Sunday lunches at the pub, after the weeks of seclusion. I need to remind myself that the hardship ain’t over year, with two full graded essays yet to be completed, but strangely enough, thoughts of cooping myself up in my room aren’t really at the top of my mind right now.

And so I headed up to the Hampstead again, where the sunny weather and warm temperatures brought out the beautiful people of London, with tops down - car tops, that is – and well-fed dogs sauntering around looking happy. There, I got together with my good friend and classmate from Ohio. She had suggested dining at the Freemasons Arms, which led me to wonder if I needed to make any secret handshake before being allowed in.

Unfortunately, the place proved very popular, and despite hovering around for close to a half hour, we didn’t manage to secure a seat. After a hungry twenty minutes of wandering around, we found ourselves at Flask Walk, a narrow side lane, and at the imaginatively-named pub called The Flask, featuring a cheerful and polite Australian-accented waitress.

There, I settled down for a nice comfortable Sunday roast, and chatted away merrily with her. But there was a dawning realization that this might be the last time in a long while before the two of us would meet. For time is steadily moving on, and some in class, including her, are planning to be away from London over the summer. Many might not even return to hand in their final dissertation projects personally.

It’s no use ruminating right here, right now, about the passing sands of time, and of friendships drifting. I’m certainly aware of how each day is whizzing by so fast, even as the days are getting longer. Things change. We know that. Let's relish what we can get for now, and worry about the regrets later.

More Images From Paris

2007-06-04T16:05:00.000Z

With decent weather and lots of pretty things around, I had a great time snapping away while in Paris. Here are some more images from those lovely couple of days.

At the Musée d’Orsay

2007-06-03T14:47:00.000Z

It was such a pleasure returning to the Musée d’Orsay during this recent trip to Paris. Set in an old train terminus by the Seine, just across from the Tuilieries Garden, this museum houses some of the finest French art from the mid-19th century onwards, including a huge collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist works – surely the highlight of any visit. I was last at the Orsay back in the summer of 2003, and it was a real treat stepping back into its galleries, and finding many of my old friends exactly where I had left them.

The curious thing is that although France is the birthplace of Impressionism – the art movement which swept through the world, moving from high culture to kitsch – many of the real masterpieces are actually not to be found in the country. I think the reason might have been because the works were initially not well received locally. Instead, they sprang into prominence only after many wealthy American collectors acquired them, which might explain why some of the best Impressionist works are to be found across the Atlantic.

Nonetheless, the Musée d’Orsay certainly does offers a wide selection, including some of the more seminal pieces, such as this one, the Le déjeuner sur l'herbe by Eduoard Manet, which shocked the artistic sensibilities of his time with his stark portrayal of the naked woman who stares at you directly. And you can see she isn’t awkward or embarrassed in any way. And that’s part of the reason why it was controversial. It wasn’t the nudity, per se, for artists since antiquity had rendered the female nude form frequently, whether in painting or sculpture. But this was so removed from any religious or classical context, and served therefore as affront to existing artistic conventions.

Pierre-Auguste Renior’s Moulin de la Galette can also to be found at the museum. Along with his Luncheon of the Boating Party, which hangs at the Philips Collection in Washington DC, this is one of Renior’s most famous works which features a multiplicity of faces, conveying the charm of 19th century French social life. This is classic impressionism, not only in terms of the artistic style, but of the subject matter - ordinary people, not gods, not figures from antiquity, not the nobility, but the depiction of common everyday life.

Whistler’s Mother, by the American painter James Abbott McNeill Whistler, is one of the museum’s star attractions. But I’ve never been able to figure out why this image has become so popular and iconic, with so many people being familiar with it. To me, it just depicts an old hag. But I can even remember that it was featured in the 1997 movie Mr Bean: The Ultimate Disaster Movie, with our eponymous hero being charged with escorting the delivery of the painting from Britain to America.

There were a few paintings from Claude Monet’s famous Rouen Cathedral series, where he sought to portray its façade under different lighting conditions. Monet usually painted from an angle, but the Musée d’Orsay included a rare full-fronted depiction of the Cathedral as well. How did he perceive these blurry and indistinct hues? Through sheer creative genius? But just a couple of weeks ago, speculation emerged that Monet’s cataract problems may have meant that those fuzzy images he painted were an actual representation of how he saw the world.

One of the movements in post-Impressionism could be located in the works of the Pointillists – artists who sought to introduce a supposed scientific method of painting by creating very many small points of colors, which, when viewed collectively by the human eye, presented the viewer with a fuller range of impressions. The following four paintings were produced by a different artist, yet with each using the same technique. I was amazed to learn that even Matisse, whom we know mainly as a twentieth century painter, and who is represented in the fourth image below, even dabbled with that technique.

Finally, moving away from the visual arts, here’s one of the real delights of this most engaging of museums – the original sculpture of the white polar bear by that French creator of animal works, Francois Pompon. How friendly it looks. I truly enjoyed this visit to the Musée d’Orsay. And if not for the museum’s liberal camera policy, I wouldn’t have been able to reproduce these images here. One day, but perhaps not in the near future, I hope to be back.

Across The Channel

2007-06-02T21:26:00.000Z

I can’t even remember the first time I came upon the striking image of Mont Saint Michel. It could have been in one of those glossy coffee table books featuring ancient sites around the world. Or perhaps I saw it featured in some travel programme on television. All I know is that I have known about Mont Saint Michel for many years, and it quickly became a place I wanted so much to visit, if I had the chance.

The opening came over the past few days, when, with exams over and summer weather setting in, I headed for France early on Thursday morning with the Singapore Doctor to check out Paris for a day, before journeying through the countryside and then into the Normandy coast on Saturday to visit that awesome monument.

I guess it’s pretty easy to imagine why Mont Saint Michel would have captured the imagination of so many people through the ages. Look at its dramatic setting, desolate and windswept, centuries of ingenious human construction, brooding and looming on top of a natural rock outcrop surrounded on all sides by mudflats. At high tide, however, the waters sweep in, and Mont Saint Michel becomes a virtual island, cast adrift, it seems, from the mainland, lonely and isolated.

Yet it has been occupied for more than a millennium, emerging first as an abbey and place of pilgrimage, to become the world heritage site and tourist trap of today. How did it come to be? The story goes that there once was a bishop named Aubert who ruled the nearby town of Avranches in the early middle ages. According to my guidebook, in the year 708, Aubert was visited by Saint Michel in a dream.

“The archangel ordered him to make the rock that had just been surrounded by the sea, into a place of worship dedicated to him,” the account went. “Aubert did nothing about it thinking his imagination had got the better of him. Saint Michael grew impatient with him, and when he appeared the third time, he poked a hole in Aubert’s skull to make him believe.”

So Aubert got the message. With that, and several other miracles later, he ordered the foundations for the abbey to be laid, and over the next few hundred years, an imposing gothic structure was erected, ringed eventually by a small town at the foot of the rock. The history of the Mont surpassed even the ecclesiastical. The Mont also repelled English invaders during the Hundred Year War, became transformed into a prison during the days of the French Revolution and Empire, and was declared a historic monument in 1874.

Arriving from the nearby city of Rennes, we had the chance first to walk through the little town, meandering through the narrow lanes, choked full of ancient history and modern gift shops, up medieval staircases, before reaching the historic abbey, where stunning views of the surrounding were on offer. The rooms were impressive too – the main church, the crypt, the refractory, and the charming cloisters, where the colors of the flowers presented a bright contrast to the drab and dark interiors of the abbey.

We were blessed with wonderful weather that day, and had a delightful time exploring not only much of Mont Saint Michel, but also the central core of Rennes, about an hour and a half away. The city served as the capital for Brittany, and it’s worth noting that the Bretons maintain a distinct culture and language from the French, with some public signs even appearing in both languages.

We had spent the previous day in Paris, spending most of our time checking out the Musée d’Orsay, about which I may write separately, and then walking through the central parts of town, including a nice detour into the Galeries Lafayette, with its amazing golden steel and glass dome. Interestingly enough, Printemps was just next door. I guess only Singaporeans of a certain age would recall the time when both department stores had a branch in Singapore. What happened? Why didn’t they survive? Were their offerings really that bad, or was it because they had unpronounceable names?

Back in Paris on Saturday, the day had turned pretty hot, as we started off by touring the grand Hôtel des Invalides, featuring the prominent dome church which held the remains of Napoleon Bonaparte, plus several other great French military leaders such as Tourenne, Lyautey and Foch. Thereafter, it was off to the Musée d’Art Moderne across the river, but not before we chanced serendipitously upon a weekend antiques market along the Rue Cler.

Compared to the wonders of the Musée d’Orsay, this modern art museum seemed like a pitiful distant cousin. Parts of the front courtyard were covered in graffiti, while some young men were happy to take advantage of its marble work to try out their skateboarding skills. Inside, only a small selection greeted us, though I can’t really complain, given that the admission was free.

The rest of the day was spent on and around Ile de la Cité, where the Notre Dame cathedral could be found. We didn’t plan on going in, as the two of us had visited it previously, and it was just as well, for it seemed as though half the world had descended upon that small island. Yes, Paris is a popular place to be in, and we’re pretty lucky that it’s just a couple of hours away from London.

Finally, with me being me, no account of my trip to Paris would be complete without brief mentions of our culinary encounters. Lunch on the first day came at the Angelina, on Rue de Rivoli, right next to the Tuileries Gardens. It’s better known as a tea and pastry place, and we had one of their house specialties, the Mont Blanc, a meringue like item with chestnut paste. Yum. Dinner was an altogether grander affair, taking place at Le Madeleine Castellane, where the duck confit was totally divine, coming nicely in between a gratinée à l’onion and a crêpe suzette.

I wasn’t as satisfied the next day, lunching at Mont Saint Michel. I had heard about some special local Normandy omelet dished up at the La Mere Poulard, and decided to give it a try. It was weird. The dish came with copious amounts of eggy foam, resembling more a soufflé than a traditional omelet. It seems as though quantities of air must have been pumped into the egg mixture before it was set onto fire. My advice – don’t try it. Go instead for the grilled seafood.

I don’t know when I shall next see Paris. It’s an easy place to get used to, but when you aren’t familiar with the language, it’s difficult then to really absorb the culture of the city, which is why so many people from Singapore look more towards the English-speaking cities of the world instead. It doesn’t mean we are insular. And to be sure, art forms like music or painting command a universal appeal, transcending language. But it’s certainly not a place where I can wander in and out of bookstores, pick up Le Monde in the morning, chat with the locals, catch up with latest television shows, or attend the theatre.

But I have been fortunate in having journeyed to Paris quite a few times, savoring much of what it offers, and there are nothing but fond memories of each visit. My abiding regret this time round? Well, I wanted a chance to get a meal from the Quick fastfood restaurant. When I last had a Quick burger, I found it better than McDonald’s. This time round, it wasn’t to be.

Travel Notes: We journeyed to France under the Chunnel on board the Eurostar and stayed at the Helios Opera Hotel, providing delightful, clean and modern accommodation near the central Opera Garnier. The trip to Mont Saint Michel was managed courtesy of a fast TGV train ride, which whizzed us from Montparnasse station in Paris to the central terminus at Rennes, and a separate bus connection provided by Les Courriers Bretons, which ushers passengers straight to the destination’s doorstep.

Dave Matthews at Wembley

2007-05-30T23:15:00.001Z

Wow, what a night! I’ve just returned from a Dave Matthews concert at the Wembley Arena with the HM, SSG and GNK. Yes, what a night! Finally, a chance to see the man himself, in his raspy voice, performing a full three hours before a very appreciative audience. And the timing couldn’t have been better, with my final exam on the Theories of International Relations having concluded only earlier that day.

When I stepped into the City Temple exam venue in the afternoon, the skies were dark and rain was steadily falling. When I emerged three hours later, with hand weary and head exhausted, I was greeted with sunny skies and warmer weather, even though the day was near to an end.

It took me some time, though, before the significance of what had just occurred hit me– that I had at last finished my concluding exam paper – and, hopefully, the very final exam of my life. I’ve been doing this for far too long, and to repeat such an odious experience anytime in the future would be to indulge in unnecessary farce and self-torture.

After a quick dinner at the Nandos outlet at the Brunswick, we left for Wembley Park on board a Piccadilly line and then a Metropolitan line Tube train. It was quite a sight getting to the destination station, for greeting us was the splendid edifice of the new Wembley Stadium, which had only come into operation recently.

The Wembley Arena, however, is a separate indoor performance venue located just next to the stadium. The performance by Dave Matthews and his band was very good indeed, although I wished that they had played more of the old hits such as Grey Street, Bartender and Crush, which I count as among my firm favourites. They opened with a few songs from the newest album, Stand Up, released in 2005, which I don’t regard as among their best.

But never mind. I got what I came for, especially their penchant for playing extended track versions of their major hits, where, after the first few minutes of singing, you’re treated to up to 10 minutes of pure and exciting instrumental music, almost resembling a jazz jam session. Violinist Boyd Tinsley was especially exhilarating, as he stomped around the stage, goading his fiddle into all manners of ecstatic squealing.

Right from the start, I wanted to get up and move to the beat of the music, but was surprised to find the London crowd rather sedate, with everyone seated until the very end. At my last concert in Singapore before leaving for London, featuring Coldplay, the entire audience then was on their feet even before Chris Martin had appeared. So what’s this talk about placid audiences in Singapore?

In any case, that’s a minor matter. For when Dave Matthews re-emerged after much clapping, yelling and shouting for his encore performance, the audience thundered into paroxysms of utter delight, and we were all amply rewarded. Yes, this was what I came for. This was what I had waited so long for. Dave Matthews – the man from South Africa and America whose music has given me some of the best moments of my life.

All right. Enuff said. I’m tired, and I’m outta here for a couple of days.

How Things Turned Out

2007-05-27T23:12:00.001Z

The weekend turned out to be a washout in more than one sense of the word. The rain came down steadily, incessantly, drenching London in a dreary and dismal blanket of tears, or so it seems, looking back. The winds were strong, and the air was chilly. It was a brave move on my part, taking time away from studies to join her on a jaunt through the city. Well, the London Eye was good – which we managed to board only on Sunday, after it broke down yesterday – as was Chicago the musical, the Tate Modern and Portobello market as well, plus gastronomic offerings from the Gay Hussar, Belgo Centraal, Royal China and Veeraswamy. We walked a lot, talked a lot, umbrella in hand, sometimes with a chai latte, and sometimes with waffles and ice cream. I guess it was nice. We saw quite a bit of the city - as far west as Notting Hill, as far east as Liverpool Street, and traversed along much of the South Bank too. But given how things turned out, perhaps I could have remained in my room, swotting and cramming away. I should have realized that there are just some things over which I'd never really have a say....

Five Questions From Failure

2007-05-25T13:49:00.000Z

- Show how the effect of a tariff on imports benefits or harms domestic producers and consumers.

- Explain how applying a user fee to recover the cost of providing a pubic (sic) good such as a bridge, or a road, is inefficient.

- You are trying to deter pollution with abatement cost A, probability of detection p and a penalty F. Explain how your choice of the variables (p. F) is influenced by potential polluters’ attitudes to risk.

- Give a definition of poverty and explain its advantages and disadvantages.

- The Stern Report proposed a Pigouvian approach to controlling carbon emissions. Explain why may this be better than a Coasian solution to this problem?

So these were the five questions I tackled this morning in my Economics exam. It was a paper I had feared fervently. But did I do well? Well, I guess I should scrape a pass at least. And yes, the second question did specify a “pubic good” such as a bridge or a road. I sure hope the passageway was clean, and that there’s been little traffic.

This was the second of my four papers, with the first – Research Methods – having come earlier on Monday. I feel exhausted, after weeks and weeks in comparative seclusion, completing four essays and now having concluded two exams. Two more papers await me next week – Theories and Actors of the Public Policy Process, and Theories of International Relations. And after that? Two more essays to be finished within two weeks.

Can die man. I’ve done so many exams in this life, and sometimes I wonder why I got myself into this situation again. What’s the point? All these late nights chained to the desk certainly ain’t healthy.

It’s also been interesting comparing my experiences now with what I went through back at NUS and NTU many moons ago. The exam hall setting and atmosphere is just as crappy. I realize as well that the terms like "mugging" and "smoking" are entirely organic to Singapore. I talked about having to mug the night away, and was greeted with looks of incomprehension from some of my classmates.

As for the smoking, it will come in the third and fourth papers. No chance to smoke my way through anything so far, given that the first two papers were quantitative in nature. Meanwhile, a friend from home is in town – unfortunate though the timing is – and I plan to spend some time with her over the weekend, exploring London. I think it promises to be a nice break, especially with cooler weather forecast.

Seven Hours of Statistical Hell

2007-05-19T20:56:00.000Z

OK, so I was wrong in my prediction for the FA Cup finals. Bah. Chelsea? Manchester United? Who cares? I support Arsenal anyway…

I have but two nights to go before the first paper of the exam season – the killer research methods paper, comprising tons and tons of statistical verbiage – but I’m sitting here totally stoned, weighed down with food and unable to plough ahead. Of course, I’ve just had the benefit of another wonderful dinner prepared by the Celebrity Swinger Chef, who prepared a delectable selection today, featuring a star bak kut teh pot.

It’s nice to get together with the gang again, for such opportunities are steadily dwindling, as some of them begin to head back home in the next couple of months. I’ll have the good fortune of hanging around in London till late summer, and I intend fully to be rampant around London in the coming weeks, spending less time in my room. I’ve just about had enough cooping myself up here.

Yet this was a most productive day. My good Canadian friend from class swung by Goodenough, and together we did some exam revisions for a full seven hours, by which time our brains had exploded, splattering the room in a spectacular kaleidoscope of colours.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Yet we didn’t even manage to find time to discuss multiple regression. We’ll have to meet tomorrow to go through more head churning exercises.

The Blues or the Reds?

2007-05-18T18:17:00.000Z

Chelsea takes on Manchester United tomorrow for the FA Cup final. It's good to see the match being played at the new Wembley Stadium. So who's going to win? Since I can't stand Jose Mourinho - what a prick - and since Chelsea's recent form hasn't been that spectacular, let's bet on Man U lifting the trophy after a hard fought 2-1 match. Of course, I've got a soft spot for Frank Lumpah, so it would be nice if he's the one scoring for Chelsea.

Four Days To D Day

2007-05-17T18:06:00.001Z

And the preparations for the battles ahead continue relentlessly...

Running in the Cold

2007-05-13T21:28:00.000Z

Over the past few days here in London, it’s really been cold, dismal and dreary. Winter has made a sudden return, so it seems. Out came the jumpers and the sweaters, and I’ve had to turn on the heater again. The BBC weather pages predict a high of only 14 degrees tomorrow. Of course, all this is temporary, and by the end of the week, we’ll be seeing temperatures around 20 Celsius again. Yet I’m rather enjoying this spell of cooler weather, although it makes waking up very difficult indeed.

With the last of the pre-exam essays completed, I felt I needed to get out today for a good, long run. But instead of heading up yet again to Regent’s Park, I thought I’d turn eastwards and southwards this time through some uncharted territory near the City of London. My route took me down Gray’s Inn Road and then a left on High Holborn, followed by a jaunt along Fetter Lane and Fleet Street. Before long, we passed St Paul’s Cathedral and found ourselves on Cornhill, where the Royal Exchange was sited, before ending at the famous Erotic Gherkin - the striking Swiss Re building on 30 St Mary Axe and now a firm icon on the London skyline.

I’ve seen the Gherkin from afar many times, but this was the first I came right up to the building. It’s a bit smaller than I imagined, yet very impressive and very pretty – its distinctive colours and contours reflected brilliantly on the glass paneling of adjacent tower blocks. With the brooding and bleak clouds of the morning having given way to bright blue skies, it seemed like a perfect quiet Sunday to be out enjoying the lovely life to be had in London.

Dinner at Browns

2007-05-11T21:08:00.001Z

A short entry, but it captures thoughts of a lovely evening. I sure was glad to leave my room, abandoning all thoughts of studies and of exams to meet up with a good friend and colleague from home, in town currently for a conference. Indeed, she took over the position I vacated when I left Singapore for London, and as such, much of the evening was spent catching up on office gossip.

It was a cool, blustery and wet day. We gathered at the Browns restaurant on St Martin’s Lane near Covent Garden, right next to the performance venue for Avenue Q. The previous time I dined at a Browns outlet was prior to catching Casino Royale at the West India Quay in October. I made a little note then to try the Steak, Mushroom and Guinness pie if I frequented Browns again.

And indeed, that was what I had last evening – yum – preceded by a Caipirinha cocktail, containing Finnish vodka, syrup and lime, plus a subtle crab and avocado salad, and followed later by a dense brownie with vanilla and a good cup of brewed coffee. *Burp*

It’s good to see I haven’t lost my touch. Now it’s time to hit the books again, back to the harness, pulling up the socks, burning the midnight oil, putting the nose to the grindstone…well, you get the picture.

Since I'm Feeling So Inspired

2007-05-10T19:25:00.001Z

I’m back my desk, after spending the afternoon away on a nice interlude from studying. We’ve just had a Canadian-themed Dining In at the College, and that accounts for the bison burger churning inside my stomach right now. But given that it was a Goodenough burger, that meant that it was anything but. Still, the roast potatoes and Black Forest cake made up for everything. And added to the Starbucks chai latte I had earlier, I now feel totally stoned, and unable to move….

It was my good fortune to have been out in London running a few errands on a day the heavens decided to pour. It was cold, wet, miserable and blustery. But I got myself a decent hair cut, and also stocked up on provisions of instant noodles and wine. I’ll try not to consume the both of them at the same time though.

The big news today is that Tony Blair has announced his plans to resign the premiership on June 27. It’s a full ten years since he became Prime Minister, and I still recall visiting the UK on holiday in May 1997, just days after he was swept into office. A mood of change was in the air. But all this, of course, has nothing at all to do with my impending exams, but it ain't proper studying if not for frequent diversions to the TV and the Net.

Meanwhile, a colleague from home is currently in town, and we’ve made plans to get together over dinner tomorrow. Will the blog then see another quick restaurant review? Let’s hope I get quite a bit of revision done in the meantime. I’m just looking for excuses – this post included – not to start work so soon.

Paella and the Art of Staying Sane

2007-05-06T22:35:00.001Z

And so I snuck out of my stinking statistical shithole earlier this evening and joined the rest of the gang for a nice paella dinner at the London House buttery. It proved to be a most welcome break from work. The chef for the evening was the ever capable GNK, who, inspired by his recent marathon trip to Spain, came back with ideas and ingredients for this most delicious offering of Iberian cuisine.

Paella, of course, is best served not as a single dish for a solitary person, but is most appropriate instead for large gatherings – with generous servings of rice, chicken slices, peppers, onions and more, topped up with the magic taste of saffron. Alas, no shrimps were added – we were a bunch of poor students, after all – but the end result was eminently satisfying.

In fact, perhaps too satisfying. I think I ate too much. Certainly, I’ve been chained to my desk for what seems like weeks and weeks on end, accompanied by copious quantities of chocolates, coffee and other nourishing health food, yet barely sustaining me through the many days and nights which now merge one into the other, as I dream inconsolably of Chi Square tests, normal distributions and measures of association, wondering what they all could mean.

I sit here now like a giant tub of lard hardening as each day passes, emulsifying, ossifying, until the moment when I can be released from the demons of the dreaded exams. A pervasive sense of decay and degeneration infuses the entire body, which once saw better days. Meanwhile, I find my mind wandering, too, dedicated not to the pursuit of knowledge, but devoted instead to old songs by Faye Wong, Sally Yeh, Tarcy Su and others.

When I start singing Chinese songs to myself, that’s a sure sign that my mind’s going. But that doesn’t detract from the sweet beauty of lyrics such as these:

寂寞开在心事旁

随手种一些伤感

不让星星来窥探

找个沉默的夜晚

不让星星来窥探

随手种一些伤感

寂寞开在心事旁

我的关怀方式是你无法察觉的悲凉

只能在你不綺意时才锁上我心房

你往常的亲切友善是我今生的遗憾

受伤后无悔的埋在不流露的脸上

What Do I Hate?

2007-05-03T16:30:00.000Z

I HATE STATS

I HATE STATS

I HATE STATS

I HATE STATS

I REALLY REALLY REALLY HATE STATS

Because I Boh Liao. Cannot Meh?

2007-04-30T20:15:00.000Z

Wah lau eh, sibeh sian man. Whole day sit here have to stardee. Cannot go out and jalan jalan. Why? Because the chao exams akan datang lor. But then I tell you hor, I acherlly got no mood to work one. Where got time? I go talk cock to fren, surf net, and koon a lot. Liddat more fun wut.

Last time got chance go out makan, see nice place, attend show, somemore go holiday. Now leh? Hide inside my room pretend to work only. And no one to comprain to. Just listen lots of music lor, and eat chocolate until become ah pui like dat.

Haiyah, but I oso think I cannot continue like dis lah. Tomolo I need to be siao on awreddy. So much to cover. Like I damm scared of my econs paper man. I see all the curves until I macam like mabok liao. Tow tiah siah.

The stats paper lagi worse, I tell you. That one I got no background. Some many topics very the cheem leh. Like regression lor. Piang eh! Kong simi lan logit transformation, multiplicative equation, Chi square distribution? Kena sai! I read until gong liao and still catch no ball. Nah Beh. Exam come sure die one. Other papers I can go and smoke. But stats cannot anyhow whack. Scarly fail then how? Jiat lat liao.

So dunno lor. Want to play cannot. But got no steam to work. And somemore I still got essay ah buay finish. Aiyah, don’t talk awreddy lah. No more stoopid posts like this. I go back and stardee. Next few weeks must piah. By June everything gao dim sai, and then I hoh seh and heck care liao.

The Weather in April...

2007-04-28T11:03:00.000Z

…has been frighteningly warm. Sure, compared to Singapore, daytime highs these past few days have only been in the mid twenties. But this is April! Winter has barely passed. And if we have such temperatures now, imagine what August is gonna feel like.

I know I have been a great weather bore. I obsess about the weather, and usually about how warm it is. I don’t mind the cold. I just hate being hot. I hate sweating. I hate stuffiness and stickiness. Sure, I may have been born on a land just a degree north the equator. But that doesn’t mean I have to like equatorial-type temperatures.

There was a time when, if I were embarking upon a trip to the UK in April, I would have packed a thick jacket. Perhaps those cold days are over, with appearances of Halley’s Comet even more recurrent. Perhaps global warming is now - totally and utterly - a phenomenon no more of the future, but of the present.

I’m not here to cast a judgment on the science involved. I just don’t know enough. But it sure was disquieting waking up this morning and being greeted by headlines announcing that April 2007 has been the warmest April in the UK since continuous records began 350 years ago.

The Independent notes today that Spring 2007 will be probably be the hottest spring ever. “It has followed the second-warmest winter in the UK record (December, January and February) and the warmest-ever autumn (September, October and November 2006).”

Clearly, I’ve not really been shivering much since I came to London. That’s good, but also somewhat worrying.

Drudgery Amidst Music

2007-04-26T16:06:00.000Z

The third essay is done – the third of four assignments I have to complete before getting down to some hard core studying for the exams, which loom ahead, ominously.

Something tells me that this blog is going to get a wee bit more boring in the coming few weeks. Certainly, all the expeditions to assorted eating places around London are over. I now scrape the sides of my fridge in perfunctory efforts to feed myself.

The escapades to various entertainment hotspots around town are at an end. No museums, no galleries, no pubs and markets, no performances. Instead, I have but my imagination with which to amuse myself. Cool London waits out there, but I might as well be in the middle of the Sahara.

But being cooped up in the room has given me time to savour some new music. HM has sent me two albums from Muse, containing spectacular tracks such as Sing for Absolution, Apocalypse Please and Assassin. These guys are awesome. She’ll be heading to one of their gigs in June with the SSG, and it’s unfortunate I won’t be free then to join the two of them.

Meanwhile, GNK has also provided me with some albums from Singapore’s own Stefanie Sun. I rather regret not tracking her career closely, for she rose to prominence during a time when I was away in the US. I recall returning to Singapore after those few years away, and discovering Stefanie Mania sweeping the island. It’s been a real delight to sample her songs now.

Meanwhile, I find my thoughts are focused ever more on the end of my course here in London, and on what might await me back in Singapore in the autumn. Of course, I shall have also to curtail the use of such terms, for they invite derision and the multiple rolling of eyes. But that’s how we’ve come to think of time, of the seasons changing.

Back home, with the sun rising and setting at seven daily, with the temperature within an unyieldingly narrow range, you find it difficult to feel a sense of time passing, each day containing the same drudgery as the day before, with little time to step back and reflect on where you’ve been and where you’re headed.

Over here, it is different. And it’s one among many reasons why I’m very grateful for this one year.

The Essays Of My Life

2007-04-23T05:42:00.000Z

I think they’re finally finished! I’ve completed the essays for the Globalization and Global Governance and the British Government and Politics modules. I’ll walk over to UCL later to hand them in.

So, two essays done. What’s next? Two more essays.

And then the exams.

And then two further essays.

April is a cruel month indeed.

Going Into Seclusion

2007-04-20T16:36:00.000Z

And so I’m back in London, where wonderful Spring weather greets me. This is what I chanced upon at the gate to Coram’s Field, just next to Goodenough College. I’ve had the opportunity to catch up with a few friends from the hall, and even with someone from class. Managed as well yesterday to go on a nice long run up to Regent’s Park again.

But the good times are definitely over. Two essays need to be handed in next Monday, and much work remains. And after that, more assignments. But let’s focus for now on what’s on the immediate horizon. And for that, I’ll need to be chained to the desk throughout this weekend.

I hope to reemerge. Soon.

Returning to London

2007-04-18T02:46:00.001Z

I’m now sitting at the Pacific Coffee Company outlet in Changi Airport's Terminal Two, with a double latte and a donut by my side. I’ve quite a bit of time to kill, with the flight back to Heathrow due to leave in a couple of hours’ time. I still marvel at Singapore’s wonderful efficiency…a smooth half hour drive up the East Coast Parkway, and then I cleared check-in and immigration within five minutes. It’s amazing. And now I’m surrounded by wonderful departure shopping. Except that the wallet’s a bit empty.

One of the last things I did was to go catch a screening of 300 at the new Vivocity yesterday evening. It’s a pretty curious work – a comic book masquerading as a movie. Lots of blood, lots of gore, tons of violence, and impressive looking abs. The magic that CGI can bestow upon actors who've too much beer to drink…the transformation can be remarkable.

All in all, this has been a good week back home. No studying done - none whatsoever - but I'm not kidding myself. And there're a few regrets, to be sure, such as how I wasn’t able to meet up with a few of my good friends. And how I wasn’t able to eat as much as I had wanted. But more good food awaits me in London, and I’m looking forward to catching up with my new friends there as well.

And I’m glad the heatwave in the UK over the past weekend is over. I’m glad to leave the stinking humidity of Singapore. Slightly cooler weather is forecast later this week in London. Time to bring out the jackets perhaps. It’s going to fun.

From Lavender to Holland

2007-04-16T17:56:00.001Z

The culinary tour of Singapore moved today to Lavender food center, where I met up with a good friend whom I’ve known since my days in green. On my menu today was a good serving of what I still consider to be the best Guo Tie (Fried Pan Dumplings) in Singapore, offered by the Beijing Eating House stall, located just adjacent to the dessert outlet. It's even better than those found in restaurants such as Lao Beijing or Din Tai Fung. What I had was crispy on the outside – not flabby, not oily – and succulent on the inside. In a word – perfect.

We also ordered a dish of Dou Sha Wo Bing (Bean Pancake) plus a plate of fried carrot cake from another stall directly opposite, washing everything down with a mug of iced milo. Wah lau. And all at wonderful hawker prices. What more could you ask for?

A word or two about Lavender food center as well – for I find it stands out from the crowd of run-of-the-mill hawker centers. I actually don’t know if or how the Environment Ministry carries out hawker zoning, but the food variety at Lavender go beyond what typical hawker centers offer, with less commonly-seen stalls around, such as those selling dim sum, and even the "organ" soup. It’s always worth a return visit.

Another gastronomic target on my list this time was the XO Crab Bee Hoon available at Block 40 Holland Drive. And joining me this time over dinner was an even older friend, whom I got to know during my days in white. His list of external pursuits never fail to impress me. His wife came along as well, a teacher too, and it was lovely meeting her again.

Many might consider the different Crab Bee Hoons in Geylang to be superior, and while I've eaten there before, I think I shall reserve final judgment, until I’ve been able to sample the different offerings. Meanwhile, I think what you can get at Holland Drive is still spankingly delicious, and more so when added with the fried kankung and egg fuyong.

Just before I headed to Holland Drive, I had gathered with some former colleagues at the Red Dot Traffic building along Maxwell Road for drinks. There are quite a few bars on the ground floor, along with a Pacific Coffee outlet, over which I retain fond memories, given the time (and money) I spent there while working in the area.

But the Boulevard Bar, which was were we convened, was new. At least it opened in the time since I left. A black colour scheme pervaded the entire place, with discrete and professional serving staff clad in the same shade. The background music wasn't too obtrusive. And as I took a swig of my pint of Hoegaarden, I’m reminded again of how fortunate I was to have worked once with this wonderful bunch of people.

At Rochester Park

2007-04-14T17:01:00.000Z

The Rochester Park area has become one of the latest dining hubs in Singapore, and I can’t think of a better setting for fine cuisine – with classy restaurants set in old colonial-era Black and Whites, away from town and in a leafy district. I had wanted to try out Graze, but it was already fully booked.

So it was down to a choice between One Rochester – ostensibly a wine bar, but with food offerings as well – and North Border next door, which serves hearty Tex-Mex cuisine. My lovely companion for the evening made the final decision, and so we walked into the lush grounds of North Border just as the heavens started pouring.

Safely ensconced in an upstairs corner table, we surveyed the menu, which came with all the usual mouth-watering Southwestern fare, such as chicken and shrimps, with lots of chilis and peppers. And the wine and beverage list was impressively long as well, although I was appalled when I saw that a bottle of Havana Club rum was going for $190.

I don’t know whether they were serving the three, five, or seven year old rum, but it didn’t really matter, for after having seen in person how much bottles of Havana Club actually cost – widely sold as they are throughout Cuba – the mark-up was truly criminal.

Still, I shelled out readily for a glass of Canyon Road Sauvignon Blanc, the price which I’m sure must have been jacked up as well, while she settled for a Citrus Passion.

For the starters, we decided on the Sante Fe crabcake platter, which came with a luscious harbanero tartar dip, and also an interesting concoction called Mostly Mushroom – comprising different strands of mushrooms – white button, Portobello, shimeji and more – mixed together and served with garlic bread. I liked the crabcakes tremendously – different from the altogether more bland types you’d get up along the US Atlantic and New England coast, for this dish at North Border came spiced with hints of pepper.

I then tackled my shrimp linguine pasta, while she beheld her chicken and bean stew, which came in a large bowl, covered with a giant crust, looking decidedly like an English pie. I think we just sat there, amazed at the appearance, and laughed for a full minute. Taste-wise, I don’t know about her stew, but my pasta was among the best I had, with the shrimps very well prepared – meaty and yet crusty, with generous portions to boot.

To end, we ordered the Classic Chocolate Cake, and decided to try out the interesting habanero chili ice cream as well. Ice cream made from chili? Well, if things like green tea or durian could be made into ice cream successfully, why not? Curry ice cream? Wasabe ice cream?

When it came, the little glob looked distinctly innocuous, coloured almost like peach ice cream. We each took a bite, and were confronted first with a mild, sweet taste, before the burning chili sensation hit us at the back of the throat. It’s difficult to describe this successfully in words, except to say – Go try it yourself!

In short, North Border was a real delight, with good food, a nice setting and discrete service. Of course, the company I had was charming, and perhaps that made the difference.

Things were different earlier in the afternoon. Before one proceeds to sin, one goes for some self-flagellation. And it was with this in mind that I thought I might embark upon a nice long run in the afternoon. But I had forgotten how different conditions in Singapore were. The humidity was absolutely appalling, like a sickly over-powering blanket that suffocates your every move. Those fantastic timings that I attained in London? Those hour long runs that I sustained? Entirely illusory. They are fake. They exist no longer.

For back here, within 10 minutes, I was already drenched in heavy sweat and ready to throw in the towel. It’s really amazing how much the weather matters when it comes to running. There’s a huge difference between being out there when it’s 15 degrees and 50 percent humidity, and when it’s 30 degrees and a 100 percent.

One Enjoyable Evening

2007-04-13T18:21:00.000Z

Well, I’ve been in the habit of giving quick restaurant reviews for the blog while in London, so why stop the practice, even if I may be back in Singapore?

And so I gathered this evening for dinner with my ex-boss and with my ex-colleague and long time friend at Les Bouchons on 7 Ann Siang Road, located in an area filled with many boutique restaurants and bars, including my old favourite, the now-departed Union Bar, close by on Club Street.

The boss had been to the bistro-like Les Bouchons previously for lunch, where he enjoyed himself, and therefore suggested that we met there for dinner. It was a French restaurant, but the portions were decidedly unFrench. My kind of place. First came the Bordeaux, which was brilliant, and then servings of salmon on toast, charchuterie, and garlic escargots…very appetizing indeed…although they could try cutting down on the olive oil for the last item.

The restaurant specializes in steaks, perfect for carnivores like me. I chose the Sirlon steak as my starter, which came with a delightful side of pomme frites, and a selection of sauces, mayonnaise, horse radish and more. But although I knew what sort of cut it was, there were still too much unchewable bits to it, which meant that an untidy mess remained on the plate.

The boss – who works and plays hard – felt that the standard of the food this time round wasn’t as great, but after my cup of coffee, and after the wonderful time with the two of them, I didn’t really care. The company was excellent, with the food entirely secondary.

In particular, I was thrilled to be seeing her again – one of my very best friends in Singapore – and after dinner, when the boss took his leave, we headed to the new Muse Bar at the upgraded National Museum. My London education has done me well. Say Muse, and I think of those guys behind songs such as Sing for Absolution and Butterflies and Hurricanes.

Anyway, it’s good to see the National Museum rebranding itself as a hip and happening place, and I helped myself to an interesting Gin Smash. But perhaps we shouldn’t have gone there. The music was deafening, even though we sat outdoors, and with tons of stuff to catch up on, conversation was difficult. How to gossip successfully with such a din in the background?

No worries, though. We’ve made plans to get together again next Monday evening. I’m certainly looking forward to it.

Day Two in Singapore

2007-04-12T10:37:00.000Z

I spent the morning at my old office along Maxwell Road, and it felt good to be back in familiar territory, with familiar faces around. My time in the organization corresponded to a fair bit of turmoil and tumult in my life, and strangely enough, it was the office which provided a semblance of stability, and it was there where I met some of the best people I’ve come to know, individuals whom I now consider close and dear friends.

I wasn’t able to catch up with everyone I wanted to. But we’ve made plans to get together again next Monday evening over a few pints. Our usual watering hole at the Union Bar along Club Street may have closed, but I’m sure we can convene at another apt location.

Leaving the office, armed with a cup of Rafee's Corner coffee, I was caught in a heavy tropical downpour, the intensity of which is rarely seen in London. And after a few minutes, it was all over. Meanwhile, the high humidity continues – humidity that you feel enveloping your entire being oppressively – and my mind’s drawn back to those lovely Spring days in London not that long ago.

Checking up on The Times, I then came upon this forecast that summer in the UK this year is expected to be a scorcher. Let’s hope it doesn’t get too bad. We don’t have air conditioning in our rooms at Goodenough College. I may have to leave the fridge door open if things get really bad.

A bit of time was spent browsing the shelves of Times the Bookshop at Centrepoint, where I picked up a trio of new local titles – Neil Humphreys’ Final Notes from a Great Island, Romen Bose’s Kranji: The Commonwealth War Cemetery and the Politics of the Dead, plus Tan Shzr Ee and Desmond Foo’s Lost Roads Singapore, which explores some of the less well-known areas of this island nation.

It then struck me that all three volumes focus on Singapore’s history and human geography – something I’m pretty interested in – and I foresee I might have quite a bit of material to discuss with the Hot Geographic Mama when I’m back in London.

Meanwhile, here’s the tally of my attack victims today – mee siam, you char kway and kopi peng in the morning from Maxwell food centre, ju kweh and tou huei zui in the afternoon from Tiong Bahru market, and xiao long baos and zha jiang mian later this evening from Din Tai Fung at the Paragon.

Yes, I know, I know - it’s a pathetic list. I can surely do better. I’ll certainly try harder.

Sights New and Familiar

2007-04-11T16:03:00.000Z

My first day back in Singapore is about to end, and already, I feel I’ve done quite a lot. Seven months away doesn’t seem that long, but those who come from where I do know how fast this places changes physically. What’s new? Well, it’s only been a day, but already I’ve driven past the revamped National Museum, the controversial Fort Canning Tunnel, Vivocity and also the new Central mall.

And coming down the East Coast Parkway, one can already see the entire Singapore Flyer wheel in place. Completion is expected in the next few months. Compared to the London Eye, which is right next to the Thames, the local counterpart seems a wee bit too far removed from the center of town. Will it work well? Does a ride up to view Singapore’s skyline count as a romantic escapade?

I actually spent much of the morning thinking of how my life now revolves around the time in London – how I feel so entirely at ease and at home there – but by the afternoon, after a good steamy bowl of Radin Mas lor mee – with the requisite dollops and dashes of minced garlic, pepper, chili (both cut and paste) plus vinegar – I felt entirely Singaporean again. It’s certainly wonderful to be back.

What startles you is finding out again how inexpensive it is to live in Singapore, especially after having experienced the horrendously overpriced London. That bowl of lor mee would have cost just 1 pound. You can’t get anything decent to eat for a pound these days in London, can you? Not even a rotten hot dog from one of them rotten hot dog wagons.

Of course, it doesn’t pay to be cheapskate. I popped into Queensway Shopping Centre and figured I might go say Hi to one of the Malay barbers over there. Cutting a long story short – no pun intended – certain unfortunate developments occurred, and I don’t think I’ve ever had hair so short since I enlisted in the army many moons ago. It’s now durian like, as they say.

But life had to go on…and so I sat down this evening with a colleague who will soon be taking up an assignment at our mission in Washington – the very same job that I once had. He was keen to learn more about what to expect, and in retelling those days, memories of the past came flooding back, naturally.

It’s interesting how we take on so many different identities throughout our years here. That represented a clear part of my life, but, as I had realised earlier, it now signifies another time, another place, another career, another group of people. Does it have any link to what I’m doing currently, or where I am? Although I can recall clearly what I used to do, the images in my mind take on a strange hue, and I sometimes wonder if I was really there.

An Empty Diary

2007-04-09T23:11:00.001Z

This is very frustrating. There is so so much in London to do. Tons of happening stuff going on everyday. And every time I flip through at the arts and culture guides in the weekend papers, I can see a veritable smorgasbord of events and acts that I wanna go check out. For a start, there’s the Renoir special exhibition at the National Gallery and there’s the Falklands War 25th anniversary exhibition at the National Army Museum, not to mention the many other concerts, markets and performances that remain tantalizingly on offer.

But for the first time since getting to London more than a half year ago, I’ve got nothing planned at all for the next couple of months. Nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing marked out in my diary. No gathering with friends. No travel plans. Not even a meal outing. And that’s so unlike the oily glutton that I am.

Of course, I realize all this carping might not go down well with some, but come on, the only reason why I’m starving myself is because I’ve got a flock of assignments hovering over me, vulture like, ominious and menacing, plus exams the following month. Lots of hard work beckons. Which is why I’m taking a break from roaming around this glorious city for now.

Heh. And the fact is I doubt I will get much done this coming week. Tomorrow sees me flying back home to spend time with the folks, the feline, the friends and the food. I’m looking forward to it. But could someone please help turn on the air conditioner well ahead of time? I’d appreciate that.

Springing Around London II

2007-04-08T18:44:00.000Z

Just one image is enough to convey the mood on this calm Easter Sunday...

Eating and Exercising

2007-04-07T21:44:00.000Z

And so the feasting continues. I never tire of these occasions. Today, it was the turn of the lovely HM to try her hand at whipping up some yummy local fare, aided ably by the Singapore Doctor. We had mee siam, roti prata and beef rendang, followed by generous servings of teh tarik. Wah lau. Eat until can burst. But it was definitely tummy pleasing.

Meanwhile, my membership of the local Cannon’s gym has expired, for I had signed up only for the winter months. I’m now running outdoors again, and it was lovely to be back at Regent’s Park today, with the flowers blooming, more people milling around and happy dogs roaming free. Sitting up there on Primrose Hill, surveying the marvellous skyline of this great city, I’m conscious that my days in London are dwindling, and I’m determined to enjoy what I still have.

Oh yes, and also to pass the exams…Damm

Springing Around London

2007-04-07T03:16:00.000Z

It was a rather lovely Spring day on Friday, with top temperatures hovering around the high teens. Not a day for serious studying, alas, which was why the SSG, the HM and I decided to head out for a nice walk around London. And I couldn't have asked for better company.

We ventured down south through Holborn before hitting the Strand – and people of a certain age and background never fail to remember where the Strand stood on the British Monopoly board, coming right after Free Parking and just before Chance. Those were the days when children spent their time playing board games, not the X Box.

Crossing Waterloo Bridge, we entered the Southbank area, with its array of performance venues, galleries and eateries. Certainly, there was a nice, jolly atmosphere, with many people out and about on the start of this long Easter weekend, obviously enjoying themselves.

A nice, meaty dinner then followed at the Anchor pub overlooking the Thames, with servings of roast pork, beef and turkey, washed down with a cool pint of Fosters. Simply perfect. I love this city.

Driving Around Cuba

2007-04-06T16:08:00.001Z

And then there were the cars! The cars! The cars! You won’t believe how stupendously amazing the cars in Cuba were! The cliched image we all have of the country isn't wrong. For there really are classic cars still in daily use across the island. And when juxtaposed against the fading buildings and creaking streets, at many moments I felt transported back in time, thirty or fourty years back. It just didn’t feel like the 21st century.

So how did it come to be so? After the Cuban revolution, the embargo by the US began, and soon, imports of new American cars ceased, resulting in many of the existing makes having to be carefully preserved. And given the circumstances, Cubans have become ingenious, devising ways to keep their cars running, even to the point of installing totally new engines into old bodies and chassis.

What’s the end result? Cubans retain their mobility, while us visitors get to see these virtual museum pieces on the streets – old Cadillacs, Chevrolets and Dodges – little different from a generation ago.

Still trying to figure out what I mean? Here’s a good selection of just some of the old vehicles I saw in Cuba:

Rampant in Cuba

2007-04-06T15:28:00.001Z

Well, I’ve now been back in London for a couple of days, but the time since has been most useful in resting and getting over the most amazing trip I made over the past week to Cuba.

Yep, that’s right. I can’t believe I was actually in Cuba – pirate haven centuries ago, plantation island, playground for the rich and criminal, and then platform for the first successful revolution in the Western hemisphere that led to a Communist government. Old Man Fidel is still there, which is why McDonalds and Starbucks aren’t there. But of course, we weren’t there for such comforts. Rather, it was really to soak in the atmosphere of a place rich in culture, history, politics, and cigars and rum too.

Without this trip, I wouldn’t have known about the Cohiba and Montecristo and Partegas brands, nor about Havana Club and Ron Varadero. Nor visited the very bar where the Daiquiri cocktail was invented, and reputedly with the assistance of writer Ernest Hemmingway as well. It’s important to assimilate such useful cultural knowledge. Heh.

Havana, the capital, seemed like a place frozen somewhere in time. I don’t want that observation to sound critical – which it’s not meant to be – for the city has a definite vibrancy and excitement to it. But it was the people, the architecture, the sense of old world charm which lent a very different atmosphere to the modern and comparatively more bland life that we come from.

Old Havana – or Havana Vieja as it’s known – comprises narrow and closely set buildings on the eastern edge of the city, with some of the oldest baroque Spanish houses and churches still standing, many of them looking decidedly decrepit, yet still inhabited and fully functioning. The entire area has been declared part of the “cultural heritage of humanity” by UNESCO, and is, in fact, the largest intact colonial centre in Latin America.

The middle of the city also contained many fine buildings, and even a little Barrio Chino – or Chinatown – although I strained hard to find any Chinese people there. Yet Cuba is home to quite a few Chinese residents who arrived in the 19th century. One of the country’s most famous painters, Wilfredo Lam, is actually of part Chinese ancestry.

A striking landmark in this part of town is the Capitolio – essentially a twentieth century replica of the US Capitol building in Washington, built by an earlier Cuban administration, when the country came under the US orbit.

To the west was the newer and much more sprawling district of Verdado, which we approached by walking the long stretch of the Malacon, Havana’s famed esplanade area, where many locals gather, even under a hot sun, with waves crashing dramatically against the embankment. We soon reached the landmark Hotel Nacional, which was actually financed by Mafia money, where the cool respite of a cocktail was readily available.

And further inland was the Jose Marti monument – dedicated to the man who helped led Cuba to independence from Spain. And he sits there with a pensive expression, overlooking the huge square – the Plaza de la Revolución – around which many important buildings of the Cuban state are gathered.

But the face that shadowed us through our travels in Cuba wasn’t that of Jose Marti. Instead, it was the iconic image of Ernesto “Che” Guevara, the Argentine-born revolutionary who, with Fidel Castro and others, successfully overthrew the Batista regime in the late 50s. And even if we may be unfamiliar with Che, we all recognize that image of him, with the beret and the distant gaze, immortalized by photographer Alberto Korda, which has made its way into global consciousness as the embodiment of the young revolutionary. And here he is, mounted dramatically on the facade of the Interior Ministry.

Some may find it revolutionary chic. I think it’s kitsch. One proclaims one’s cool credentials now simply by wearing a Che Guevara T-Shirt. And I was struck not only by how visible images of Che was around Cuba, but also by how the government there has sanctioned him even as a tourist icon, judging by all the Che T-Shirts, posters, postcards and other accoutrements being marketed in the various gift shops.

And so there’s Che the man. But there’s also Che the icon, used mercenarily, purposively by the state. This makes for a fascinating study into how history can be manufactured, how heroes are created and commoditized, not just to venerate the past, but also to serve the needs of the present. Every country does it. Cuba’s redeeming feature, in this regard, is that there’s no obvious cult of personality surrounding Fidel Castro himself.

Anyway, enough of social commentary. Back to the travelogue. So, after spending a few days in Havana, we embarked on a long road trip towards Trinidad, an old colonial town located in Central Cuba, on its Southern coast, stopping along the way in Santa Clara. This was the site of a major battle during the Cuban Revolution, and the main attraction there was a monument and mausoleum to Che Guevara.

After the bustle of Havana, Trinidad appeared positively sedate in comparison. We trekked into town in a Sunday morning, and what did we see? A low-rise and widely-laid out settlement, with houses painted in fading pastel colours, baking in the hot Carribean sun, dogs yawning themselves to sleep, women peering out through the grills of their windows. Where was everyone else?

Ahh, it was Palm Sunday – the week before Easter – and many were gathered in the Iglesia Parroquial de la Santisima – the Church of the Holy Trinity. How appropriate. Trinidad, after all, is named after the Spanish word for Trinity. And it served to remind you clearly that Cuba remains a country with deep Catholic roots, despite more than forty years of socialism.

We spent a large part of the following day on what turned out to be the most strenuous activity of our trip to Cuba – a long trek through trails in the Topes de Collantes, part of the Sierra del Escambray highlands about twenty-minutes north of Trinidad. From an altitude of about 800m above sea-level – high enough to feel a distinct cooling of the winds – we hiked downwards thorough thick vegetation until we reached the Saldo del Caburni, where a cliff stood, with a steep, plunging waterfall. Needless to say, the journey up the hill was much more difficult.

Soon, our week in Cuba came to an end, and so I left the country, happy and enriched, sun-burnt, and with a pretty satisfactory checklist of cocktails sampled – Mojito, Cuba Libre, Daiquiri, Havana Especial, Presidente and Mulata. It was a good trip to a most interesting country – with loud colours, bright sunshine, a rich history and easy going people. Now I know what the Havana Club is, and the bottle I brought back with me is certainly going to provide quite a bit of joy.

But the coffee I had in Cuba sucked. It was truly, utterly crappy…I guess you can’t have everything your way.

Travel Notes: We journeyed to Havana onboard Iberia flights from London Heathrow via Madrid. While in the city, we stayed at the Plaza Hotel, a centrally-located classic establishment open since 1909. In Trinidad, we stayed at the Finca Maria Delores resort, about a two kilometer walk from the heart of town. Flight connections, accommodations and internal transfers were arranged by Trips Worldwide in the UK. For a good meal, try La Mina, located at the Plaza de Armas in Havana’s old town, serving authentic Cuban cuisine, with live music performances as well.

A New Season

2007-03-26T12:06:00.000Z

Well, we’ve now stepped into the season of spring. Freshness abounds. Winter has gone away, and the clocks have sprung forward. Nature awakens from her long slumber. The weather is turning warmer, and the days are getting longer. The sky is sunny, and the flowers are blooming. Tis Spring! School’s ended, Easter beckons, the hemlines are up, and it’s time to file our taxes.

Tis Spring. Indeed.

I’ve had a mega English breakfast with my friend from home, and while he saunters round the bookstores of London, I return to my room, to my beloved essays, on whom I’ve lavished so much attention over the past few days.

But it won't be forever. Tomorrow I shall take my leave, and depart for a distant land, far away from thoughts of OLS regression, or the move towards citizen-based journalism, or China’s strategic inroads into Africa, or reforms to the British civil service since 1979.

The coming few months will take on a very different tenor. While there are no more formal classes, a ton of assignments remain, plus the dreaded exams. I have no idea as yet how the time will pan out. What’s clear is that it’s gonna be plenty busy.

Meanwhile, I shall have a good time catching up with my friend and longtime travelling companion, as we continue on our jaunt through the world’s last remaining dictatorships.

Back soon.

Arbutus? Arbuthen!

2007-03-25T21:40:00.000Z

Dinner this evening at Arbutus, a classy restaurant on Frith Street, near to Soho Square, tucked away at the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road. Open only since May 2006, it’s certainly a new entrant to London’s already crowded fine dining scene. But I think it’s made pretty decent inroads already, judging from sympathetic reviews in TimeOut and The Independent.

The restaurant bills itself as offering Modern Eclectic cuisine, which I took to mean Pow Kar Liao, but there was a strong hint of the French in its offerings. How could I tell? It's because I could barely understand many of the items listed. But I’ve gotta give them credit, for Arbutus changes its menu daily, ensuring that regular visitors always encounter something new and fresh.

Of course, one of my dining companions faced no problem understanding the menu, for he was the urbane and cultured Singapore Doctor, on his third outing to the establishment. And he was accompanied today by his sister, the lovely Chio Bu, in town for nice holiday. Coincidentally, I happened to be entertaining a friend from home as well, who had just flown into London earlier in the day.

I settled for the Pre-Theatre Menu, which comprised an onion soup starter, followed by a dish of lamb, which I found a wee bit cold. But it was very well-prepared, unlike some of the more rubbery stuff you might find elsewhere. Then came a novel rhubarb jelly dish, covered in vanilla ice cream, the sour and the sweet mixed together in a rather invigorating combination.

All in all, a very nice meal, and a delightful opportunity to meet the Chio Bu at last. But as usual, I stepped away still somewhat peckish, for the glutton’s tummy always has room for more. Thoughts of crab bee hoon continue unabated.

Food From The Domestic Goddess

2007-03-23T22:03:00.000Z

What a dreary and dismal day this has been, consigned as I was to my room, chained to my desk, confined to channelling my energies into nothing but this essay which I hope to complete in the next few days. Outside, the sky was bleak and brooding. Inside, the mood was no better.

But just as the sun set and the day came to a languid close, things brightened up considerably when I headed down to the buttery for dinner. There, awaiting us was a nice Teochew porridge meal prepared by the SSG – aka the Singapore Lawyer - who, true to her promise earlier, managed to whip up a delectable offering, assisted in part by the able Snowboarder. I helped out somewhat with the bean sprouts, but was chastised for my low standard of craftsmanship.

In the end, a wonderful feast awaited us – with fried kangkung, lup cheong, tow geh, ikan bilis, xian cai tang, minced meat and more, plus warm, filling porridge. The company, as usual, was brilliant. This was truly a nice way to end the day.

Exam Thoughts and More

2007-03-22T21:28:00.000Z

Classes have ended for the term, and the exam schedule has just been issued. Looks like I’ll have to go into seclusion for much of May, burying myself in books and assorted other paperwork. The amazing thing is that even after my final paper, I have two more full essays to submit in the weeks thereafter. The next few months are likely to be pretty hectic.

It’s one thing to remind myself not to be a chao mugger. It’s another thing altogether to not study and thereby fail the exams. I have quite a bit of work I need to do in order to get in shape for my economics class and my research methods and statistic class. I’m less worried about the other modules.

But worries about the dissertation will have to come after the exams, although I did have the second of my meetings yesterday with my supervisor. Does UCL mind if most of my cited sources are American, and not British? Not at all, she replied, for UCL liked to think of itself as a "global university."

As we ended, she asked where I was headed to over the Easter break, and seemed pretty miffed when I told her of my plans. Heh, I said. I like telling Americans of my intended destination, as it’s probably the one place in the world where they can’t legally enter.

A Face From Home

2007-03-21T22:54:00.001Z

Met an old colleague and friend earlier this evening over dinner at the Grand Bazaar, a small Turkish restaurant off Oxford Street on James Street, which also sees many other eateries close by jostling for business. The weather was freezing, but the company and food were delightful.

The place was imaginatively decorated, with lamps and incense burners hanging from the ceiling, creating the atmosphere of the oriental, conjuring up the image of a Turkish bazaar. We started with some bread and mititi kofte, and I followed up with a admittedly somewhat dry serving of swordfish on spit. Being there, my thoughts were also drawn to the Café Divan, a Turkish restaurant in Washington where I had spent some memorable moments during a period of my life that now lies ever further in the past.

It was good catching up with her, and getting up to scratch with some of the gossip back home about who's up, who's down, and who's heading out. She’s here currently on holiday, in between two assignments, and I’m pretty happy for her that her next posting is a well-regarded and much deserved one. It’s a very good step up for her.

Amidst all the talk about our parent agency back home, what was sobering for me, alas, was the realization that even though I’ve yet to conquer my schoolwork and exams here in London, I need now to look increasingly ahead to a life back at work again. It's something to be done. But it’s not an entirely scintillating prospect.

London Vs New York

2007-03-20T20:07:00.000Z

It’s a perennial tussle, isn’t it, a persistent debate on which city is better – London or New York? Which do you like more? Which do you find more vibrant and exhilarating? Which can claim the mantle of Capital of the World? For those fortunate to have been to both cities, we each have our own preference. But some things are beyond comparison, surely. Consider: Hyde Park or Central Park? The London Underground or the New York Subway? The Tate Modern or MOMA? Pasties and fruitcakes or bagels and pretzels? Often it’s not as straightforward a task as merely tabulating a list of likes and dislikes.

But the answer can still be evident. And I know where my loyalties lie. I prefer London far more than New York, and it’s a view I’ve long held, even before I moved here last September. I like New York. But I like London more. I grew up long enthralled by thoughts of London, while never really being turned by or seduced by that other city across the Atlantic pond. It’s difficult to explain why that’s the case, although I’m sure many harbour opposing sentiments. I first came here way back in 1995, and have returned several times since, enjoying each visit, while the virgin journey to New York was attempted only in 2001.

I’ve been revisiting these thoughts this week, when I came upon the cover story in New York magazine, which covers life and times in the Big Apple – trends, dining, fashion, travel, gossip, and other assorted topics. And incredibly, it was a homage to – of all places – London! Check out the special section here.

It’s a brave move by the good folks at New York magazine. The lead article points to an increasing sense that in the friendly fight between these two global cities, London appears to have seized the upper hand in recent years. Talent from around the world seems to be pouring in, with a visible influx from Eastern Europe. The arts, dining and architecture scenes are flourishing. London beat out New York and other cities for the right to host the 2012 Summer Olympics. The report proclaims, “If Paris was the capital of the nineteenth century and New York of the twentieth, London is shaping up to be the capital of the 21st.”

Most of all, London has been the beneficiary of a massive boom in the financial sector, so much so that there are fears in New York that their position as a leading hub for capital and services might be usurped. London benefits from its geography, right next to Europe, and in between Asia and the Americas. Onerous post-Enron regulations on companies and post-September 11 clamp-downs in visas and travel have made London a much more attractive location for business. Ambitious young bankers now head to London to make a killing, not New York.

Of course, both cities are stupendously expensive, staggeringly crowded, and serve as prime terror targets, with 9/11 and 7/7 instant shorthand for the respective tragedies of the past few years. I’d reckon that London sucks by having worse weather, creakier infrastructure, and more trash on TV. Yet these realities do not detract from the joy that is to be derived from the charm and excitement of this great city.

Would I enjoy living in New York? How would things be like if I were spending this one year not here, but over there? The experience would be different, I’m sure. I’d be meeting different people, seeing different places. But I’m happy that this is purely a useless counterfactual, for right now, I wouldn’t trade my place here for anywhere else in the world.

South Of The River

2007-03-19T23:07:00.001Z

The wrath of Winter returned today for an unseasonable late March blast, bringing top temperatures hovering only around the mid single digits. The onset of Spring is clearly on hold. But the heavens were more schizophrenic, ushering in bright blue skies, and then dark clouds heavy with sleet and snow, even if for brief, fleeting moments. But it was rather magical, just for a while, as I gazed upwards in the evening, peering at the snow and ice drifting silently downwards, illuminated by the dizzying light of the streetlamps, falling onto my cheeks, and dusting all that lay below.

Braving the cold, the Monday Night Dining Club convened this evening at a new location, heading south of the river for the first time. We found our way to the area around Borough Market, close to the London Bridge Tube station, and settled on this charming place called the Wine Wharf on Stoney Street – a cool two-storey wood-panelled establishment offering a wide selection of wines and spirits, with comfortable seating and live jazz music in the background, which one member dismissed as mere wallpaper.

Putting aside such pernicious English cynicism, most of us had fun tackling the poached haddock on bubble and squeak with poached egg and a pommery mustard sauce. Yummy. But what the heck is bubble and squeak? Well, you learn something new every day. Apparently, it’s a traditional English dish comprising mainly potato mash, but with other bits added in, such as leek, onions or assorted vegetable fragments. Accompanying this was a lovely bottle of chilled Chilean rosé.

What a nice setting the Wine Wharf presented. Somehow, it seemed particularly apt for us to gather there on this cold evening, surrounded by brooding and bleak Jack the Ripper-like Victorian streets, while we remained snug and comfortable within. But I’m sure when high summer comes, a different atmosphere will set in with ease.