Happy 2017!
As for the last weeks of 2016.....
Visit Stavanger in Norway for Christmas and spend time with Rosa, Mauro, Emma and Giorgio - tick
Visit Scandale In Italy for new year and spend time with Franca and Raffaele and Zia-Tere-Zia-Tere, Francesca and Franco and Giulia and Lara, not forgetting the chocolate-loving great grandmother, 96 year old "La Bis" - tick
See nephews and nieces and reinforce that I am the best uncle - tick
Get ill - tick
Make a lot of it, suffer greatly and obviously - tick
Put on the standard 2 lbs of Christmas Weight - tick
Bring back loads of food to offer us variety when we crave something that reminds us of Europe and don't want to pay twice as much as we feel is acceptable - tick
Get back to Singapore and discover the timer didn't work in the end, so the aircon has been on for 2 weeks - tick
Return to work and feel like you need a holiday - tick, tick, tick!!!
Yep. We are back.
Let's see what 2017 brings.
giovedì 2 febbraio 2017
mercoledì 21 dicembre 2016
Christmas in Singapore
As expected, Christmas decorations in Singapore are simply
grand. Amazing. Excessive.
No cheap and understated choices have been made anywhere in the city. Christmas carols have been playing in the shops since mid-October. Jingle bells? Ok. Have yourself a merry little xmas.... sure, we'll do our best. Let it snow? Well that's not likely now, is it.
Frosted Christmas trees, toadstool forests, life-sized ginger bread men, have decorated Shopping Malls and
given spots for thousands of selfies to the Orchard Road and Tanglin Mall visitors.
Abundance is the only word that comes to mind to describe this feast of
commercial adverts.
But there is no real Christmas feeling or atmosphere. And I am not talking from a religious point of view, as I wouldn’t know what has been going on in the various Churches. I am talking from an excitement point of view. The commercial side of Singapore is truly astounding. The number of people shopping at the weekends completely obliterate any desire to be out there. It's even driven Marco to prefer to sit by the pool. But it lacks a little bit of soul, of genuineness. What's missing..... cold dark evenings accompanying the last working days before the break. Anticipation as we get closer and closer to parties. Knowing we will soon be spending time with family and friends, eating sweets, playing games, exchanging presents. We have that in flashes; last weekend I wrapped presents, getting ready for our trip to Europe. Our anticipation will be condensed and concentrated into a trip to the airport and our flights to Norway and Italy.
But right now for us there is a certain calm.
Our colleagues will take a long weekend. For them xmas will be over quickly. The new year, the one we are used to, will pass. And then we will build to the real main winter event - Chinese new year.
Our colleagues will take a long weekend. For them xmas will be over quickly. The new year, the one we are used to, will pass. And then we will build to the real main winter event - Chinese new year.
sabato 17 dicembre 2016
What a massive pikachu! Part #2
In between my 2 trips to Japan we had the Singapore xmas meal. So different from the Japanese one; firstly it's lunch, and in a land where good quality food is common and large quantities are expected, where better than the Pan Pacific hotel all-you-can-eat buffet in The Edge restaurant. I'm not sure we need to travel to at least half of Asia any more as we tried the food from most countries at that buffet, and once you've seen one temple.... It was a very nice meal, delicious food, the dessert bar especially was magnificent. I'm not into durian but Auntie Mary managed to pack away upwards of 10 durian mousses. The sulfurous end apart, a very pleasant meal in a very nice place. Biggest buffet in Singapore someone said.
Two xmas meals, two parties, one team - mine - and yet so different. The cultural differences are never more apparent than from these 2 events. Oh, that and getting off the plane today at Changi airport and immediately being cut up by a local resident who was so desperate to get off the plane before me, and then promptly walked like she was pulling a fucking tractor and not a tiny suitcase. And this was indoors in the aircon. Imagine how slow she will walk outdoors. Compare that to the bell boys at the dai ichi this morning at 6am, bowing as my taxi pulled away to take me to Haneda. Where is home?
Where you live or where your heart is?
So what about this pikachu? Well, Singapore may not have invented Pokemon but they have embraced the Pokemon go culture and even had loads of Pokemon on display at the airport! Look carefully though - is that me with a massive pikachu behind me, or a normal sized pikachu with a midget walking up my arm? Either way, pretty standard for Singapore.
Two xmas meals, two parties, one team - mine - and yet so different. The cultural differences are never more apparent than from these 2 events. Oh, that and getting off the plane today at Changi airport and immediately being cut up by a local resident who was so desperate to get off the plane before me, and then promptly walked like she was pulling a fucking tractor and not a tiny suitcase. And this was indoors in the aircon. Imagine how slow she will walk outdoors. Compare that to the bell boys at the dai ichi this morning at 6am, bowing as my taxi pulled away to take me to Haneda. Where is home?
Where you live or where your heart is?
So what about this pikachu? Well, Singapore may not have invented Pokemon but they have embraced the Pokemon go culture and even had loads of Pokemon on display at the airport! Look carefully though - is that me with a massive pikachu behind me, or a normal sized pikachu with a midget walking up my arm? Either way, pretty standard for Singapore.
What a massive pikachu! Part #1
I've been to Japan twice in the last 3 weeks. The land where Pokemon were conceived, where those cheesy Godzilla movies I used to watch on late night channel 4 many years ago were made. The land of Battle of the Planets and Mazinger Z and Jeeg robot and of course Goldrake! Although they have different names out there. Gatchaman and UFO robot Grendizer...neither of which I managed to find in the manga museum in Kyoto. But then there was a lot of manga...
The Japan team xmas party was much more sedate than I expected. I suspect that's because the colleague there are so well trained in dealing with alcohol that it simply doesn't have an effect. Free flowing prosecco, wine and beer and all they did was get loud, more talkative, friendly. But they held it all together. I just love the seat swapping too. Every meal in Japan with large numbers of people when they have a visitor involves them swapping seats, to all spend time talking to each other and the visitors. Arancini and mozzarella di bufala to start. Wagyu grade A5 beef with salad....the most delicious beef in the world, for main. Then the pasta dishes, then the dessert and coffee....a wonderful night with new friends. The previous night was one of those "didn't expect to drink so much" evenings. Japanese food with sake and beer and wine, and then Miyoshi insisting that we should have one more in a "traditional pub". The little place under the railway bridge, fried food on sticks - think it's an izakaya bar, warm sake with chicken kebabs. I walked him....held him upright, to get at cab home at the dai-ichi hotel. At the party he was certain he had caught the train home. On the basis of the resistance that he has developed over 30 years of hard drinking, that must have been some serious alcohol consumption even by his standards. Morning of the party I was rough. He looked it too during our goals review. But he perked up by noon and was ready for round #2. Meanwhile I needed to go back to the hotel and have 3 hour lie-down. It was only the prosecco at the party that saw me through the night! God bless prosecco and its medicinal powers.
More shortly - and is that a massive pikachu I see....??
The Japan team xmas party was much more sedate than I expected. I suspect that's because the colleague there are so well trained in dealing with alcohol that it simply doesn't have an effect. Free flowing prosecco, wine and beer and all they did was get loud, more talkative, friendly. But they held it all together. I just love the seat swapping too. Every meal in Japan with large numbers of people when they have a visitor involves them swapping seats, to all spend time talking to each other and the visitors. Arancini and mozzarella di bufala to start. Wagyu grade A5 beef with salad....the most delicious beef in the world, for main. Then the pasta dishes, then the dessert and coffee....a wonderful night with new friends. The previous night was one of those "didn't expect to drink so much" evenings. Japanese food with sake and beer and wine, and then Miyoshi insisting that we should have one more in a "traditional pub". The little place under the railway bridge, fried food on sticks - think it's an izakaya bar, warm sake with chicken kebabs. I walked him....held him upright, to get at cab home at the dai-ichi hotel. At the party he was certain he had caught the train home. On the basis of the resistance that he has developed over 30 years of hard drinking, that must have been some serious alcohol consumption even by his standards. Morning of the party I was rough. He looked it too during our goals review. But he perked up by noon and was ready for round #2. Meanwhile I needed to go back to the hotel and have 3 hour lie-down. It was only the prosecco at the party that saw me through the night! God bless prosecco and its medicinal powers.
More shortly - and is that a massive pikachu I see....??
lunedì 28 novembre 2016
Fish is the new pig
A few days ago we have tried one of the signature dishes of
Singapore, fish head curry.
The cheek flesh, supposed to be the best part, is indeed
very tender and delicate in taste. If I did not see it coming from the fish
head, I would have thought it was just fish…
The eye ball are supposed to be a delicatessen too. They are
given to the kids, as it’s good for developing good eye sight.
Marco and I are not very clever, we consider ourselves
funny, but maybe we are just stupid. We tried the eye balls.
Marco went first, I was horrified and disgusted, I called
him a monster for eating eyes! The only edible eyes to me were/are the Haribo
ones for Halloween.
But then I couldn’t let him win, I had to do it too.
So, I did it.
The day after I didn't feel quite right. It wasn't
the eye ball obviously, it was tiny and without any taste. It was knowing what I
have done.
Instead of feeling brave after matching my husband in a
performance recorded by many people, I felt disturbed. I felt violated by my
own actions. Went quiet. Couldn’t stop thinking about it and while I was
brushing my teeth, my stomach was turned inside out by some strong gags.
Managed to keep it in. But even after a few days, I am still thinking
about it. The spoon full of rice and spicy vegetables I had straight after the eye didn’t help much. The beer did not console my mind. Only the
chocolate and Amaro at home made me feel safe.
It was horrible.
Good thing is that nothing of a fish gets wasted here; Singaporeans eat not only the body and the head, but even the bladder. Fish is the new pig.
Good thing is that nothing of a fish gets wasted here; Singaporeans eat not only the body and the head, but even the bladder. Fish is the new pig.
And we have crossed a line. Despite of what I said on FB, I
am not sure I am ready to push myself any further. I just don’t have the stamina for it.
sabato 19 novembre 2016
Our first trip back
My first trip back to Europe has been booked, YAY!
By the time we go it will have been 8 months in Asia, I think
it’s a long enough time to go back. I have been reading about how long it’s
desirable to wait for expats before visiting home… and I have decided in my
case it’s different, as I won’t be visiting Oxford, but my previous home and
what feels like home.
It took us about 10 minutes to book tickets, while Marco was buying BA long hauls I was buying Ryanair to and from the south of Italy, like in the good old days.
Simple.
It took us about 10 minutes to book tickets, while Marco was buying BA long hauls I was buying Ryanair to and from the south of Italy, like in the good old days.
Simple.
Except for the fact it took me a good 3 weeks to understand
that not so subtle feeling of sadness, annoyance and depression was most
probably due to the fact I needed to see loved ones.
So, understanding and acceptance it was time to plan a trip was the first step.
I resisted it, as the idea of a trip in an exotic place was appealing, and I felt pressure to travel rather than going back to Italy. Fuck it; I don’t care if I’m a loser.
Then discussion with the xiansheng on what to do, how and where to go.
Next step was the one I hate the most, checking flights. It gives me a level of anxiety I struggle to describe. I hate it from the bottom of my heart. And yet I did it for at least 3 weeks no stop.
I feel sick at the pressure given by price fluctuation, at the feeling of regret for not being more organised. It resulted in me buying cigarettes instead of flights, and evenings spent with an unsettling heavy weight on my chest (il cosiddétto OVO SODO).
Truth is I am all but a planning, organised, logical human being. My actions are driven by feelings, sentiment, and stomach.
Not always good feelings, sense of guilt plays a major role in my life. That urge of making everyone happy to the point I no longer know what makes me happy.
It has been hard but a cold and white (hopefully literally) Christmas is on the horizon, chats on our life in Asia in front of an open fire are only over a month away, singing and dancing with the girls will make all this struggle worth it. And my heart is already melting at the prospect of spending time with the cutest Italian-English-Norwegian speaking spiderman I have ever seen.
I am now hopeful for a peaceful pre-holiday and pre-crazy-travel time.
So, understanding and acceptance it was time to plan a trip was the first step.
I resisted it, as the idea of a trip in an exotic place was appealing, and I felt pressure to travel rather than going back to Italy. Fuck it; I don’t care if I’m a loser.
Then discussion with the xiansheng on what to do, how and where to go.
Next step was the one I hate the most, checking flights. It gives me a level of anxiety I struggle to describe. I hate it from the bottom of my heart. And yet I did it for at least 3 weeks no stop.
I feel sick at the pressure given by price fluctuation, at the feeling of regret for not being more organised. It resulted in me buying cigarettes instead of flights, and evenings spent with an unsettling heavy weight on my chest (il cosiddétto OVO SODO).
Truth is I am all but a planning, organised, logical human being. My actions are driven by feelings, sentiment, and stomach.
Not always good feelings, sense of guilt plays a major role in my life. That urge of making everyone happy to the point I no longer know what makes me happy.
It has been hard but a cold and white (hopefully literally) Christmas is on the horizon, chats on our life in Asia in front of an open fire are only over a month away, singing and dancing with the girls will make all this struggle worth it. And my heart is already melting at the prospect of spending time with the cutest Italian-English-Norwegian speaking spiderman I have ever seen.
I am now hopeful for a peaceful pre-holiday and pre-crazy-travel time.
r.
domenica 13 novembre 2016
Familiarity and contempt. And snot-man...
Everything seems so much more familiar now. A taxi to work during a tropical thunderstorm; cheap food from a hawker centre; dinner al fresco in 30 degree weather (in November!)!; living in a condominium complex with a swimming pool; flip-flop wearing iPhone zombies everywhere.....
But every now and again we are reminded that we are truly living in a different world. It's a world that doesn't conform to my British values in body space and bodily fluids.
So on the bus to work you may get the occasional cough in your direction. Ok, it's not pleasant but more driven by the aircon than illness. I can live with it. The people that stand close to me, in a position such that my hand, holding the plastic hand rail above, is gently brushed and caressed by their hair, I could do without. It's a level of intimacy that I'm not looking for and don't really enjoy. As the buses lurch forward or stop suddenly the hand rail moves, I move, and occasionally they get a tap on the head from the plastic hand-piece. It may take a few goes, but that normally shifts them; but why....why stand there in the first place? Do they need closeness from strangers in the morning? Why invade my body space?? I don't get it. I just don't get it... does my reaction surprise you? Is it an over-reaction from where you are sitting? Maybe it is, maybe it's the culmination of all the little things that are also familiar, but that are deep within me reacting together, fermenting, as my reserved Britishness is faced with an onslaught of non-British standards and norms.
The taxi driver eating food, spitting pieces he doesn't like into a bag; the middle aged woman belching loudly and openly in the bank queue in the morning; the receptionist clipping her toe nails while talking to me; the old man on the bus pulling bits of skin off his feet on the journey home in the evening. Each of these amazed me in their own way; maybe they change you, they build together a wall of expectation until when you see something else that would on the first day here have made you recoil in horror then it's not so bad, just another familiar-yet-not-familiar part of living in another world, another culture. And then you crack and in a mad Brexit-like over-reaction you imagine a line has been crossed, enough is enough, you must take back control! Why do people not watch where they are going? Is it so fucking hard to stand up and move out of the way to let someone get off the bus without having to climb over you? Why do strangers brush their hair repeatedly on my hand!! ENOUGH!!!!
Last night was a night that reminded us that we are not there yet; we maintain the ability to distinguish according to our European norms. As we sat at the bus stop waiting for the number 75 to take us home after a lovely pizza, aperol spritz, wine, salumi and cheeses, an evening with Italians and expats, we found ourselves with a very small and skinny gentleman, clearly the worse for wear. Perhaps a taxi home would have been quicker, but the weather was good, the bus option would take 15 minutes, it was fine. The man took a seat near us, and started to blow his nose. One nostril at a time. Onto the floor. Roberta left at nostril number one; I wasn't sure if she was starting to walk home, given how quickly she moved some distance away. She told me later she was about to throw up, and needed space from seeing what he was doing (he had also started wiping some errant snot on the seat as he clearly wasn't having great success in bypassing his hand completely, and didn't have any tissues). So she missed the nasal and pleural phlegm excavation that followed. We concluded our journey variously laughing and feeling nauseous at what had just happened.
So there you have it - we are still British, Italian, European. Familiarity doesn't yet mean acceptance. We can let out the anguish at things that are not as we would do, behave, and so vent our feelings, postpone our own Brexit moment. It would be nice if we had more people with whom we could discuss our daily observations; we have accumulated many great topics for those lunchtime chats in the MH canteen. Also might be a sign that bus travel is not for us, and we need a car. Our own personal travel space. Something to look into...
But every now and again we are reminded that we are truly living in a different world. It's a world that doesn't conform to my British values in body space and bodily fluids.
So on the bus to work you may get the occasional cough in your direction. Ok, it's not pleasant but more driven by the aircon than illness. I can live with it. The people that stand close to me, in a position such that my hand, holding the plastic hand rail above, is gently brushed and caressed by their hair, I could do without. It's a level of intimacy that I'm not looking for and don't really enjoy. As the buses lurch forward or stop suddenly the hand rail moves, I move, and occasionally they get a tap on the head from the plastic hand-piece. It may take a few goes, but that normally shifts them; but why....why stand there in the first place? Do they need closeness from strangers in the morning? Why invade my body space?? I don't get it. I just don't get it... does my reaction surprise you? Is it an over-reaction from where you are sitting? Maybe it is, maybe it's the culmination of all the little things that are also familiar, but that are deep within me reacting together, fermenting, as my reserved Britishness is faced with an onslaught of non-British standards and norms.
The taxi driver eating food, spitting pieces he doesn't like into a bag; the middle aged woman belching loudly and openly in the bank queue in the morning; the receptionist clipping her toe nails while talking to me; the old man on the bus pulling bits of skin off his feet on the journey home in the evening. Each of these amazed me in their own way; maybe they change you, they build together a wall of expectation until when you see something else that would on the first day here have made you recoil in horror then it's not so bad, just another familiar-yet-not-familiar part of living in another world, another culture. And then you crack and in a mad Brexit-like over-reaction you imagine a line has been crossed, enough is enough, you must take back control! Why do people not watch where they are going? Is it so fucking hard to stand up and move out of the way to let someone get off the bus without having to climb over you? Why do strangers brush their hair repeatedly on my hand!! ENOUGH!!!!
Last night was a night that reminded us that we are not there yet; we maintain the ability to distinguish according to our European norms. As we sat at the bus stop waiting for the number 75 to take us home after a lovely pizza, aperol spritz, wine, salumi and cheeses, an evening with Italians and expats, we found ourselves with a very small and skinny gentleman, clearly the worse for wear. Perhaps a taxi home would have been quicker, but the weather was good, the bus option would take 15 minutes, it was fine. The man took a seat near us, and started to blow his nose. One nostril at a time. Onto the floor. Roberta left at nostril number one; I wasn't sure if she was starting to walk home, given how quickly she moved some distance away. She told me later she was about to throw up, and needed space from seeing what he was doing (he had also started wiping some errant snot on the seat as he clearly wasn't having great success in bypassing his hand completely, and didn't have any tissues). So she missed the nasal and pleural phlegm excavation that followed. We concluded our journey variously laughing and feeling nauseous at what had just happened.
So there you have it - we are still British, Italian, European. Familiarity doesn't yet mean acceptance. We can let out the anguish at things that are not as we would do, behave, and so vent our feelings, postpone our own Brexit moment. It would be nice if we had more people with whom we could discuss our daily observations; we have accumulated many great topics for those lunchtime chats in the MH canteen. Also might be a sign that bus travel is not for us, and we need a car. Our own personal travel space. Something to look into...
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