So Aunty!

Getting out of the window

2008-12-06T16:49:00.012Z

Thankfully, the final stage of delivery wasn't as bad as I'd expected, though it wasn't because the epidural had kicked in. On the contrary, I was only given a mild dosage so that I could feel the pressure from the contractions. More on that later. Doc Rabner had been an excellent support the entire day: he dropped by at lunchtime (appeared suitably impressed with my upbeat frame of mind), after work (when he coolly punctured another layer of my water bag with a plastic spatula), and in the late evening after Dr Rawlings had sedated me. Rabner told me that he would go home to get some sleep before returning in the early hours to deliver the baby. He lived a ten minutes' drive away.

The hours between 10pm (post-epidural fiasco) till 2+am just flew by ... I was drugged, fatigued, and sick and tired of the vaginal checks. The midwives had a shift change around 11pm and a nice, middle-aged lady named Ursula took over. She was German-speaking, personable and most important at that point - gentle. When the real pushing began, she cheered me on, with firm but motivating shouts of, "Fenster ... Fenster ..." (which of course means window -as in, to 'defenestrate' someone- which struck me as a rather odd utterance. But I didn't think much more of it at the time, presuming that it was perhaps a metaphoric way of telling me to dilate and release Baby through my 'Fenster'. It was only three weeks later, when I discussed this episode with Ste, that he clarified what Ursula had actually said, "It was 'fester', not 'fenster'. 'Fester' means harder ... like to PUSH harder ..."). In any case, I pushed for a while and when I overheard Ursula ringing Doc Rabner to come to hospital (oddly enough, I understood this in German!) I had a feeling that The Moment was near.

Rabner appeared at the doorway and got straight to work. He examined me and did something I found extremely helpful - he pressed down on the point where I needed to direct my expelling energy. With the second midwife holding onto my left leg and Ste to my right, Rabner said that the baby's head was very close and asked if I'd like to touch it. What a sense of humour ... what ridiculous timing - what ran through my head was, "Why the hell would I want to do that - just get the damn baby OUT!" Fortunately for all present, I was not particularly articulate at this point and just managed a slightly perturbed-sounding, "Er ... no ...". But I pushed ... boy, did I push. I pushed like there was no tomorrow ... I didn't really have a choice - the contractions were increasingly violent and Baby was felt like a ginormous poo that refused to budge.

Rabner then decided on another course of action. He didn't want the baby to get distressed and suggested the vacuum extractor to guide her head through the last twist in the birth canal. With the swanky vacuum equipment came a less-than-swanky extra midwife. The operating theatre suddenly felt crowded (a few weeks earlier, I'd asked Rabner how large his team in the theatre would be - he chuckled and replied, "Team, what team? You mean, me, the midwife, Stefan and you?"). With the buzzing equipment came a menacing pair of stirrups, to which my legs were lashed. I can't remember feeling the episiotomy, but did feel a tad queasy when I saw something resembling a toilet plunger raised in the air. According to Ste, Rabner activated the vacuum for a second, loosening Peany from her cozy environment, and told me to make the final push. I did exactly as I was told ... and with the baby's head came a glorious shower of amniotic fluid that doused Rabner quite thoroughly. Well ... if anything, that was one way to create an impression. The next scene would have benefitted from some musical accompaniment from the Star Trek soundtrack: a large purplish form was lifted from between my legs, blocking out the light for some seconds before it was placed face-down on my chest. It was wet, warm ... and surprisingly quiet. I looked at Ste imploringly and asked if everything was all right with the kid. Peany raised her head a little, squinted at me and furrowed her brow. I heaved a sigh of relief - a baby with a healthy dose of skepticism.

Now at the start, Doc Rabner had said that the low dosage of painkiller would make my pushing more efficient - and he was right, although there is a very fine distinction between pressure and pain. I could feel him stitch me up, which took an hour. Five minutes into the job, I inquired if he could just leave me to heal naturally instead, which elicited a cluck. Half an hour into it, I wondered what his handiwork (careful embroidery) looked like. For each stitch that was made, he would test the tension in the thread by tugging on it. Once, when he gave it a pull, the stitch didn't hold and went 'thwack'! Ouch indeed. I'd expected some pain-numbing effects from the euphoria of the moment, but none kicked in.

Just like an ant bite

2008-12-05T15:50:00.006Z

At around 9am on 22 May, my waters broke. I was still exhausted from having slept very little the night before and tried (weakly) to wring out a few more precious minutes of sleep from the morning. My tummy was enormous (recall Doc Rabner's sagely observation, "This is not a small baby.") and I was at the mercy of gravity and a very insistent foetus. Anne had a clearly articulated preference for the left side: whenever I rolled onto my right (to get the circulation going), she would fidget and squirm as if the sky were falling. So I was pleasantly surprised when I managed to manoeuvre out of bed and into the loo rather neatly when the gush came.

I rang Ste, who had gotten to the office a little while before, and started putting last minute items into my hospital bag. The contractions were very mild all the way till the late afternoon, when I skinny dipped in the hot bath - the water was at a comfortable temperature and was carefully scented with ylang ylang essential oil ("I thought you might like that scent because you're Asian," said the midwife). The most unpleasant thing up to that point were the invasive vaginal checks. As the pain intensified, I buttressed my deep breathing with an indiscriminate selection off the drug cocktail menu: from homeopathic medication (the most harmless-looking little white balls which are, in reality, the most harmless and useless little white balls of ****) to Buscopan, to the eventual call for the almighty epidural.

And that's when the real action began. The anaesthetist was a senior member of staff and introduced himself warmly. He explained the procedure at some length, then told me to bend forward as low as I could (while seated, with my legs dangling off the side of the bed) so that he could find The Spot to inject in my spine. He got into position behind me, while the midwife and Ste stood next to the bed. I leaned over as far as I could ... but it wasn't enough. I tried again. And again. And again. But couldn't get low enough. We kept trying ... half an hour passed ... then an hour. A nurse would pop in ever so often with a telephone message for the good doctor. Ste told me later that his wife was trying to reach him, and that they probably had tickets to go to the opera or something.

I just remember thinking what a circus it was right there in the delivery room: me, the immobilised, elephantine mass in the centre of the rink, draped in generous amounts of last season's Hospital Robe and held down by two determined keepers. Ste was on my right, gallantly pulling my arm down, and the first midwife was on the left, tugging at the other arm. The second midwife stood on a chair in front of me and pressed her elbows down onto my shoulders. So hard that I could barely breathe. Someone was counting out loud ... people were telling me to bend over ... the automated blood pressure band would inflate, stop the circulation to my left hand (really annoying) ... and ever so often I said, "Stop! Contraction ..." whereupon all activity would cease, till the pain passed. Then the routine would begin again. Doc Rawlings had injected me a number of times, but was dissatisfied with something or other each time. The encouraging, cheerleading tone we'd first started out with turned into agitation and frustration after an hour. No one had said anything harsh to me; they didn't have to. I was very nearly distraught by that time - shaking from the nerves and from the pricks to (the nerves in) my spinal column. I felt dejected and defeated. The strength I had derived from everyone's encouragement and praise (for my stoic composure) in the first half of the day evaporated ... leaving me bone tired and lost. We carried on like that for another hour.

Finally, and I don't even remember how or when or what was different that time, it happened. Alicia Altorfer-Ong was epiduralised. Doc Rawlings, evidently as relieved as I was (except perhaps for the fracas that would ensue re: the missed opera when he got home) came round to my side of the bed and wished me all the best for the rest of the delivery. He had maintained his composure throughout (observed Ste), though he chuckled (in German, to Ste) as he was leaving that this was the hardest case he'd faced in 20 years on the job. I simply felt broken and wasn't sure if I could take whatever else was to come.

In the blink of an eye

2008-11-30T16:36:00.008Z

After some homeopathic attempts to 'ripen' my cervix (through drinking numerous cups of raspberry tea and 3 sessions of acupuncture) and much vigorous walking, Anne Ying arrived on 23 May, a week ahead of her estimated delivery date. Hurrah! I was relieved. My skin had reached its elastic limit and my back could bear no additional weight.

Whoah. That was me just over six months ago. Now I am a completely different person ... a Mom. I'll spend the next couple of posts recounting my birth story, just so I don't forget the many little dramas that made the experience so special.

To the So Aunty diehards, thanks for having checked back here! There will be more frequent updates from now on, promise.

And here is Anne Ying at 3 weeks, all dressed up for her first big excursion (Aakash and Sanjay's baptism service):

And here's the little critter now, looking quite like the nursery toughie:

Wow. Time sure flies.

Long weekend in Rheinfels & Aachen (Germany), Aals and Maastricht (Netherlands), 1-4 May

2008-05-08T11:43:00.011Z

Tania in town! 12-13 April

2008-05-08T11:35:00.006Z

She brought the sunshine (perfect for the kids' Sechselauten parade too), a tonne of baby stuff (so Peany won't be running around butt naked) and thoughtful things for the soon-to-be mummy and daddy too (the cookies disappeared rather quickly). We regaled her with ... a night of Tibetan mantra chanting at the local Helferei. But not before ensuring that we all reeked intensely of fondue cheese.

" ... happiness is my original state ..."

Photos from our weekend in Appenzell, 18-20 April

2008-05-08T11:28:00.010Z

Just posting photos for now because there's quite a backlog from our weekend trips ... yes, me bad, I haven't been updating the blog regularly.

Life just happens

2008-04-11T10:00:00.010Z

We met Tina and Sven at Justin and Julia's wedding in Tenbury Wells last June. That's us going hatty in our English wedding garb in the photo (we only procured the headwear that morning, in Ludlow).

Lo and behold, barely a year later, our paths have come together yet again: they moved from Berlin to Konstanz, a pretty town on the Swiss-German border and are expecting their first child any day now.

Konstanz is only an hour away from Zurich by train and Ste and I made an excursion of it last weekend. Tina and Sven met us at the station and we strolled through the charming old town before making our way to their flat, where we were treated to a delectable homemade chocolate cake (I skipped the salad and had cake for my main course and dessert) and great conversation.

The sun finally peeped through the clouds and we dashed out to soak up the lakeside view. We skipped across the border and back, giggling at the thought of how suspicious we must look (two heavily pregnant women threatening to burden either country's post-natal care system).

At close to full term, Tina looks as incredible as she always has and still takes her bike out everyday (a true Berliner) ... a real inspiration for me! I can barely balance with my feet on terra firma. The next time we meet, hopefully in summer, it will be a riot ... with the six of us!

Snow and flames

2008-03-25T11:38:00.013Z

Easter break in Schwarzsee, at Urs and Franzi's holiday home by the black lake. The weather wasn't as warm as I'd hoped it would be (ok so the swaying palm trees and deck chairs were never really gonna have happened) but things have a way of working themselves out. Ste returned to his mountain boy roots, took out the axe, chopped some logs and built a crackling fire. The end result was, apart from a cozy and inviting living room, a rather evocative manly smell -to match the manly stubble from days of going unshaved- which was a foil to civilised company.

A walk in the snow inspired me to sculpt a snow-person ... though what that really meant in practice was that Ste huffed and puffed with the implementation while I stood by and made inane comments (eg. "What's the difference between a snowman and snow-woman? Snowballs!") while occasionally sticking my tongue out to taste some flakes (nothing like ice kachang though).

The end result was a stocky, albeit vertically-challenged snow midget, which I'm proud to say survived the subsequent storms (as well as unkind gibes from the neighbourhood midgets - children).

My desire to rock 'n roll to jukebox tunes was ambitious ... and after some half-baked attempts at jiggling and spinning (we didn't try any jumps and leaps), we re-evaluated the situation. And decided to stick to the shuffling waltz for the moment. Something that would keep me close to the ground without challenging my centre of gravity.

The canny Easter bunny -with its suspiciously familiar manly scent- got to work early on Sunday morning, stashing coloured eggs, chocolate and nougat around the house for our little hunt. In a concerted effort with Abhilasha, Munish and Sid, these were soon sniffed out ... and feasted on. A sweet complement to a relaxing long weekend away.

It's a bird, it's a plane ... it's ... it's ...

2008-03-25T10:56:00.016Z

Pregnancy isn't merely a good back-breaker, it's also THE perfect ice-breaker. It helps to fill the remaining space in the elevator (what's left after I've lumbered in anyway) with merry conversation about the due date, baby's sex, etc. etc. Take for example my recent conversation with our Argentinian neighbour: we had never really spoken prior to that, but when she spotted my belly (the anti-elephant in the elevator), something clicked. I was treated to her birth stories -she has two boys- and loads of advice about preparing for birth. Some of it was useful, no doubt, but it was still a lot to take in on what would otherwise have been a short skip to the mailbox.

Ground floor, doors open. I smiled, nodded, and she continued, "... and that's why I think those birth preparation courses aren't very useful. They focus too much on the pain. That's not good. [elaborates on how her grandma had 7 kids in the days prior to drugs, and pain relief options, etc.] ... but you don't have to worry. You Asians have a way of dealing with pain, you do something special in your head [points to her temple], so I'm sure you'll be fine."

Eh, did I miss something there? Could it be that the entire Asian community has been hiding some secret, mind-lulling ohmmm technique from me ALL THIS TIME?!! What is it that I could do 'in my head' to facilitate a pain-free delivery ... return to my Zen meditative state? Surely she can't mean my uncanny knack for falling asleep in moving vehicles, my more prosaic self-defence mechanism ... but she seemed so certain, so convinced, that I too caught the urge to believe in my own innate mystical/super-hero potential.

***

What ten years of classical ballet training never instilled in me, the seven months of pregnancy have: the waddle. With toes turned outwards and heels pointing in, I swagger in a most alluring fashion -alluring if you're a half-blind drake that missed the last migration- in my (fat) catwoman suit, swinging my arms briskly to build up momentum as I prepare for take-off. I launch out of the elevator, glide swiftly down the stairs and out the door in the twinkle of an eye. Back with today's post in 2 minutes, flat.

Me at around 29-ish weeks (I've kind of lost track).

Half n Half

2008-03-12T09:15:00.008Z

I broke it to Ste last night.

"I don't want a white baby."

He raised his hands -with those large, upturned white man palms- and gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Whoops! Maybe that's something you should've thought of before ... I think it might be a little too late now ... doncha think?"

"No no no. What I mean is that I want our kid to be half of you and half of me. I hope it doesn't come out looking only ... well ... white."

I suppose it wouldn't be altogether impossible for the kid to be born with light eyes and fair hair. Though after the trial of a long drawn team event -LABOUR- I would hope that Kid would bear some of my physical attributes as well.

Then again, if Peanut's genetic cards are indeed drawn from Mom's deck, then It runs a good chance of having some other -perhaps curious- traits, aside from a healthy hue (and no, I do not mean jaundice):

[a] needing forceps during delivery because of big head;
[b] grossly fat (in an over-stuffed, Tierney's sausage way ... including the thick skin);
[c] having an insatiable appetite for plums (when semi solids come into the picture); and
[d] a strong inclination towards walking rather than crawling (so I've been told, though it doesn't quite square off with the inherent challenges posed by [b]).

Catch of the day

2008-03-11T18:28:00.005Z

What the 'coast guard' does on a sunny Sunday on the languid Lake of Zurich ...

... just when I thought we'd stumbled upon a crime scene under investigation ...

Only to uncover this rather odd practice of trawling rusty bicycles from the Limmat. The deathly dangerous Mary Poppins types too.

UHU ... anyone there?

2008-03-05T13:14:00.008Z

Setting:

A regular evening for the Couple on their sofa, in front of the almighty telly enjoying their pre-bedtime snack of homemade mango pudding and pandan chiffon cake. The Woman has a mug of hot chocolate balanced on her sizeable pregnant bump. The Man dusts rogue cake crumbs off his shirt; they fan out onto the sofa. He brushes them off the sofa, letting them scatter onto the floor. Wife makes a mental note to hoover between the cushions and under the sofa the next time she does the cleaning.

Husband: "How's Peany doing today?"

Wife gingerly lifts each layer of clothing of her tummy -the pullover ... the t-shirt ... the bella band- as if uncovering some strange and delicate fruit beneath (according to one pregnancy website, this week Peanut is comparable to the weight/size of a Chinese cabbage ... a pretty strange vegetable, an even stranger comparison). When all is bared, something catches Husband's eye.

-a beat-

He pokes her asymmetrically-stretched belly button with his index finger.

Male: "Bull's eye!"

Female (still breathless from the peeling routine): "Eee-yurh! I don't even dare touch my belly button ... the glue that keeps it sealed might come unstuck any day now. It already feels like Peany is having a go at it with a pneumatic drill ..."

Father-to-be: "Don't worry, it won't open up! 1975 was a good year - they made good navel glue then. And there were no rules about using toxic substances in those days, so I'm sure the chemicals were all heavy duty."

“Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?” (Robert Browning, in Andrea del Sarto, 1855)

2008-03-03T10:21:00.020Z

I have phased out the care regime for the farthest of my physical extremities and will no longer attempt to trim or prod my pedicuticles. Pretty soon, even the trusty foot buffer will be retired as I have neither the energy nor suppleness for a sustained battle against dragon scales. Fortunately it's still a bit fresh outdoors to be wearing open-toed sandals or flip-flops: I'll only start offending people's sensitivities come end-May/June.

This is me at 27.5 weeks:

(jeans: from Ai-Leng in London; blouse: from Mom in Singapore; kukui nut lei: from Greg in Hawai'i AGES ago; artwork: by my graffiti-writing husband)

The underside of my increasingly rotund tummy has been the dark side of the moon for many weeks now. It is, indeed, where 'the sun don't shine' - mysterious, sometimes forgotten, and always damn itchy. I warned Ste against pointing at it, lest the mythical lunar rabbit/maiden takes a vengeful snip at his ear lobes.

This prime belly meat property remains within reach, but completely beyond my field of vision. Colonies of foreign organisms could set up entire space station complexes there and I wouldn't even know. Heck, they might already have planted some flags and parceled out large tracts behind my back (though technically, it is in front). Somewhat reassuringly, I haven't started pulling random biscuit crumbs or stationery into orbit yet. Now wouldn't that be a lark ...

I'll keep you posted. Till then - this is Zurich, over and out.

Peanut Indahouse

2008-02-28T10:48:00.010Z

I am slouched on the sofa, in front of the telly, looking a little slovenly and a tad Jabba the Hut-ish ... minus the drool and rodent snacks. I am propped up by three overstuffed (orange) cushions and a trailing (orange) fleece blanket. My arms assume their now-regular position: one over the tummy, one under the tummy, a physical reflection of my subconscious hope that this mechanical support will keep stretch marks at bay.

Ste sidles up to me and grins cheekily. It is that time of night again: a Papa-und-Peanut bonding session which I, the biologically-designated Peanut-carrier, have front row seats to. That was a free ticket, by the way.

Almost on call, Peanut heaves and displays an unnerving array of movement. Unnerving because I get squeamish (and internally bruised) by Its combination of tiger uppercuts, foot stomping and somersaults (in utero reality, probably hiccups, a stretch and a roll). Feeling this through the maternal buffer thrills Ste to no end. I offer him some popcorn.

"Hey Peany, what's going on in there?" Ste inquires laughingly, "There's plenty of activity today, huh. Are you ... having a party? Got some friends over? Digging a tunnel? Planning a great escape?"

*whistles theme song from The Great Escape*

Gosh, it's a full-on variety show tonight. My jaw drops and I roll my eyes. Then Ste clenches his fist and presses it gently against the bump.

"RESPECT!"

Yes. The man I thought was a refined intellectual of impeccable deportment -the man I married- is teaching our unborn child to 'keep it real' with moves from the West Side. Well. If Peany eventually latches on well to me 'babylons', I guess I'll be one happy 'bitch'.

Ali G image from: http://thebestsportsblog.com/images/alig.jpg

Digging in

2008-02-22T11:22:00.008Z

A stressful day of peeling, grating and shredding has paid off! Last night's Singaporean-style CNY menu of yu sheng and popiah main dishes, supplemented by four trays of steamed (frozen) dim sum hasn't -as far as I know- resulted in any casualties.

The pressure was certainly on though: with two pregnant women (one of whom was heavily so, expecting twins in a month!) and a roomful of Ste's colleagues, this was a group which demanded some quality kitchenary output (after all, The Bank probably wouldn't appreciate a third of this department's staff going on sick leave because of post-lo hei runs ... and the thought of distressing the tiny tummies of three unborn children would have been far too much to bear). I had to go beyond my usual, half-past-six excuse for a hot meal (more often than not instant kim chee ramen).

Fortunately, apart from Chef, none of the others present had ever tasted authentic tossed fish salad or soft spring rolls, so expectations could be managed to a reasonable degree. It wasn't an utter crisis that key ingredients were either substituted (what is 'turnip' in German anyway?! We ended up using something that rather resembled a monster parsnip -figured these '-nip' veggies must be from the same family- and white radish for the fish salad was magically morphed into glass noodles), foregone (what the hell are 'kaffir lime leaves'?!) ... or just plain forgotten in the fridge (like the yucky SHRIMP which I had held my breath to chop). Everyone was a good sport and the cacophony of auspicious wishes during the tossing was a joyous mix of Swiss German, high German and English ... with the occasional whimsical trapping ("Swiss football team to win Euro2008!").

Ste, every bit the Tea House Towkay, served his favourite blends of Surabaya rooibus tea and green tea. He then put our China-Chinese tea set to good use (including the fragrance cups that were purchased at Vivocity in December) and talked everyone through the tea ceremony. If I closed my eyes, he could very well have been a waiter at Tea Chapter, extolling the delicate warm fragrance of some leaf or other. I felt so proud.

With tea came the sweets, the second and more presentable batches of homemade pineapple tarts and coconut cookies, and also pandan kueh lapis from Wonderful Patisserie on London Chinatown's Gerrard Street (where we'd procured the pandan cake for our wedding in Bern).

Just one more day to go till the end of the Lunar New Year season ... I think this is the longest that I've ever stretched it out, but it sure feels good. More noise, more laughter - chases the bad luck away ... shoo!

Some snaps from last weekend

2008-02-20T10:56:00.010Z

I spent Friday and Saturday as an observer at the International Federation of University Women (IFUW) Committee and Board meetings in Geneva. The two sessions I attended were with the Status of Women Committee on Friday and Membership Committee the day after. It is always interesting for me to see how things work -in this case, at an international federation level- how policy gets made ... and eventually gets transformed into action.

At Bhupi's (converted) barn in Grand Saconnex, a village on the outskirts of Geneva, where I stayed from Friday night and was treated to a spicy, home-cooked meal. Unfortunately I had also over-dosed on a packet of Haldiram's right before, so couldn't have seconds. Ste arrived on Saturday evening and we had a lovely time ... and no, I did not clean out Bhupi's Moevenpick ice-cream stash.

Unfortunately I only remembered that I had my camera as we were about to leave! Bhupi, who was yanked out of bed at an unearthly hour for Sunday morning, politely declined to be photographed. But there's always a NEXT TIME!!!

Then we moved onward to the Temasek Club Chinese New Year lunch near Oron ... which is near Lausanne ... which is near Geneva. Sort of. It was really good fun catching up with the Geneva folks and meeting some new faces who'd come from all over Switzerland. We left with full stomachs ... but empty hands (no luck in the lucky draw).

Photos courtesy of whoever the official Temasek Club photographer was at that time.

Give it to me baby

2008-02-20T09:19:00.010Z

Ste and I are real nutters for animal documentaries and are the proud owners of a full set of David Attenborough's Life of Mammals. Incidentally, Dave is a real hottie and has no qualms whatsoever getting down and dirty in an equatorial leaf litter to inspect its inhabitants. We've acquired a range of useful tips from that truly brilliant series ... one for instance, on baboons' meticulous grooming techniques. Indeed, one can never be overly vigilant with insects and parasites (especially when one's baboon group is comprised of fellow furry flea-traps) ... but more significant is the reinforcing effect of grooming on social ties. Our equivalent action to maintain smooth relations (and exemplary coats) is a somewhat watered-down version of the Full Monkey ... with only symbolic flea-finding (and crunching) motions.

Over summer we were tantalised by a promotional poster at the neighbourhood art house cinema. Animals in Love, a French production, kept us waiting for months till it finally hit the big screen in January. It was NOT animal porn as Alfred had scoffed, but beautifully filmed scenes of Nature at work. The kind of stuff that makes you know that there is a Master Plan. From that installment, Ste has mastered a turkey-like gobble-gobble (though he hasn't yet managed to inflate his neck pouch as stupendously as the spotted fowl's) and I am working on my suggestive mountain goat tongue flapping. It is quite a sight. Give us a couple of years and we might just oust Sideshow Bob and the Bearded Woman as the hottest loons this side of the Zurichsee.

These days, Monday nights are reserved for yet another excellent Attenborough series, Life in Cold Blood. We were unsure if the likes of reptiles and amphibians would offer us any kind of behavioral inspiration at first, but held our tongues (sssss ... sssss ...). David and his team of fauna did not let us down ... and we have a new addition to our already quacky repertoire: slow arm (or leg, if you are a gecko or frog) waves to ward off trespassers. Absolutely brilliant, though probably more practice is needed before we take our show on the road. We haven't yet been able to keep straight, reptilian-cool faces as we bask on our respective piles of rocks to increase our body temperatures. We simply crack up.

What I love about being in Switzerland

2008-02-14T22:27:00.005Z

A wonderful evening with Ste's family at Hotel Sedartis ...

This is a post-dinner shot. I don't generally sport that inflated look at other times of the day. Seriously.

Happy birthday Ste! Can you believe that there's still so much stuff we need to get done together?!

More than a spoonful of sugar

2008-02-11T09:12:00.000Z

Over the weekend, we continued flogging the pineapple tart recipe for everything that it was worth. Ste, always the perfectionist, had spotted a more sensibly-sized cookie cutter at the fancy household store across from our tram stop at Hottingerplatz, so there would be nothing standing between us and sweet, sweet confectionery glory.

We churned, glazed and baked two more batches, this time opting for a more minimalist look than last week's indiscreet dough crosses arched over irredeemably-sized jam mounds. The results were gratifying: perky pine-nipple tarts (seen here on the left) for the more liberal Chinese New Year visitor; and the more homely tarts-next-door (on the right) which -in their nakedness- were by far the least labour intensive.

In acknowledgment of our patience and stamina (mainly from running innumerable taste tests), we rewarded ourselves with a day trip to idyllic St. Gallen, barely an hour's train ride away from Zurich. St. Gallen was, for many centuries, a wealthy trading town whose inhabitants made their fortune from textiles. That history is preserved perfectly in the ornate architectural details and facades of the old quarter. Unfortunately we got into town a little late and just missed seeing the famous monastery library, renowned for its Baroque gilding and antique book collection. But there's always a next time.

In fact we've got more short trips planned in the coming months, to make the most of our remaining pre-Peanut weekends. All the little critter should be focusing on now -as its folks paint the Confederation red- is growing with gusto ... something which my bruised innards can probably attest to, is already in the works.

The oven's still going

2008-02-06T18:00:00.000Z

Oh, right. Thanks for the reminder Erina :)

So the other thing we've got in the oven -apart from leftovers from last night's dinner- is a baby. But before I get into that, let me digress for a moment: Esther, the BBC recipe worked like a dream! It's perfect for those with short attention spans, like me. For anyone else who's interested, that was my maiden stab at a vegetarian shepherd's pie ... and just so you know how authentic it was, when Ste had his first forkful, he thought he tasted LAMB in it! Phwoar, like a REAL shepherd's LAMB! Indeed, what unfathomable magical results flow forth from the sacred combination of leek, peas and canned kidney beans.

Righty. Now having been with child for about 24 weeks makes me ... no greater an authority on anything that I wasn't already an authority on before (huh?). Except for the history of Sino-Tanzanian relations during the Cold War. But there is one value-adding comment that I can make about my first trimester. I was obsessed with 2 things: first, whether Peanut (for that is what Ste and I christianed the rather peanutty form darting around in my underbelly) was getting seasick in the wide expanse of the Amniotic Sea; and second, whether Peanut would spin in a clock-wise or anti-clockwise direction if I travelled between hemispheres. And no, it wasn't merely an academic exercise - I WAS actually due for a long haul trip.

Well. I was utterly shocked and dismayed when neither Doc Rabner (hitherto an English-speaking obstetrician of respectable Swiss quality) nor Ste (the bloke who knocked me up in the first place) entertained my urgent concerns about the health and welfare of the little legume. But I resolved to not be downtrodden by these hateful, spiteful, MEN.

Speaking of whom - where is Ste anyway ... it's nearly time for my back rub. And HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR, Y'ALL!!!

Dong dong chang

2008-02-05T12:54:00.000Z

It was going to have happened at some point. And it has.

Ste got home from work last Friday and I told him to get out of his work clothes, pronto. I'd already prepared everything we needed ahead of time (butter, sugar, loads of butter) and a range of implements for creaming and whipping. It was now just up to us to do the deed: get down on it and get our hands dirty.

It turned out to be a fairly straightforward procedure and the mess didn't get too out of control, thank goodness. As a matter of fact, I was rather pleased with the outcome of our first attempt: a batch of delectable (looking) coconut cookies! They're the ones with the suggestive red cherries on top ... in containers plastered with unabashedly auspicious, in-your-face gaudy, stickers that were purchased (excitedly, I should add) from Chinatown in Singapore.

On Saturday, we persevered with our little project and completed the pastry for what eventually became the world's largest pineapple tarts. Yes indeed --- please make room for the one-time only, one-gulp only, palm-sized pineapple PIES ...

... which in all fairness taste pretty good. Once you get over the initial shock at their massive proportions (think sandwich).

But there you go: a home truth acquired from a light brush with home economics. Same kitchen, same pairs of hands, same utensils ... but it's anybody's guess as to what will emerge from the oven.

Goldfinger

2007-10-04T08:32:00.000Z

It wasn't that long ago when Katrin came over for dinner, in early summer. We found it quite amusing when she observed, with a knowing nod, "Ah you don't have a TV ... you must have a very good relationship!"

So what did we do? In the spirit of high adventure (and believe me, for a household of two historians, that's saying a lot), we trotted out and got ourselves a tiny telly.

Since then, most evenings have inadvertently transformed into 'sofa events', with Ste having mastered the one-eye-on-screen, one-eye-on-newspaper routine. I harbour no such delusions about the limits of my own multi-tasking capacity and am a dedicated both-eyes-on-screen fan of Silent Witness, a sort of CSI series (not that I've ever watched CSI) about pathologists cracking murder cases with their creative interpretations of the charred/severed/often decomposing subjects. The sort of career I might have wanted if the sight of real blood and chunky vomit didn't make me faint.

Anyway, the point is I don't think this change in our lifestyle is necessarily bad. It's not like our minds switch off during those 2-3 hours of programming every night, certainly not! Take last evening, for example, when I made a most earth-shaking discovery during a commercial break:

I prodded the cuticles on my left hand and surveyed my skinny fingers. Should I go to the kitchen for a glass of apple juice, pop into the loo, or just wait this out? Suddenly, a 'wow' moment hit: hang on a minute, now check this out ... I have lean fingers ... and small nostrils. (Alicia fits lean finger into small nostril for verification). Then I turned to Ste who was seemingly engrossed in his combination act (newspaper-telly) on the opposite end of the sofa, but secretly curious about my unconcealed excitement. I was ready to take my theory to the next level.

Ste has thicker fingers and significantly larger nostrils than I do. I raised his left hand and when [his] index digit met [his] orifice, barring the expression of mild horror (or was it shock ...) on his face, it was another perfect fit, gorrrdarnit! We are born efficient gold-diggers! So to speak. No fat fingers getting stuck in button-noses ... or worse, scrawny ones clawing endlessly through cavernous nostrils.

Ste was far less impressed by the revelation, but by then the adverts were over and my moment of brilliance retreated, embarrassed, into the wings.

On Burma, a joint statement by Karenni grassroots organisations

2007-10-01T06:38:00.000Z

01 October 2007

A Joint Statement of Civic Grassroots Organizations of the Karenni (Kayah) State on the Protests of the Monks and People inside Burma

We, the civic grassroots organizations of Karenni (Kayah) State, express our strongest support for solidarity and unity with the movement of revered monks, students and fellow citizens of Burma and their peaceful expression of and protests over the hardships and myriad of problems in Burma. Decades of mismanagement of the country's economy by the military rulers caused Burma to be designated by the United Nations as among the poorest nations in the world, while Burmese people suffer oppression and egregious human rights violations under the military dictatorship.

The military regime has persistently suppressed revered monks, students and civilians alike, who peacefully demand an end to military dictatorship and emergence of a government democratically elected by the people, branding the latter as the enemies of the people. In the States of other ethnic nationalities, the military government has consistently committed arbitrary arrests and summary execution, killed innocent civilians, and burned their villages to deprive them of shelter.

Revered monks and civilians who have been staging peaceful protests since the past few weeks to demand the fall of fuel prices and a tripartite dialog are again suppressed brutally through the use of arms. Because of a handful of generals, intent on hanging onto power, the blood of innocent civilians and revered monks has been spilled. As long as the military dictators remain in power, Burma will continue to spiral into poverty and monastic communities and civilians will continue to suffer oppression and repression. Therefore, a change in Burma needs to be brought about as a matter of urgency and if not, the future generations of Burmese people will be destined to suffer the same fate as ours under a handful of generals.

Therefore, WE, the civic grassroots organizations of Karenni (Kayah) State would like to express our solidarity with, and admiration to, the courageous monks, students and fellow citizens of Burma who are putting their lives at risk to protest against the government to bring about change. We would, therefore, like to express our conviction in this Statement that the current movement of our revered monks and fellow citizens will lead us to the path toward a dialog that will truly foster national reconciliation and freedom from poverty, desired by the people of Burma.

On behalf of the People of Karenni (Kayah) State, WE further demand State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) that it:

Immediately end the violent suppression of the peaceful demonstrations and allow freedom of expression for the people of Burma;

Immediately and unconditionally release the monks and the people as well as the political prisoners who are arrested for exercising their freedom of expression;

Make commodity prices affordable to the vast majority of the people;

Find a political solution to the problems of Burma through a tripartite dialog as soon as possible;

Immediately stop all efforts and cease all the operations to dam Than Lwin (Salween) River.

Civic grassroots organizations of Karenni (Kayah) State are:

Karenni Social Welfare and Development Center (KSWDC)

Karenni Document Center (KDC)

Karenni National Women Organization (KNWO)

Karenni Student Union (KSU)

Karenni National Youth Organization (KNYO)

Karenni Ever Green (KEG)

Karenni Computer Education Institute (KCEI)

Karenni Mobile Medical Team (KMMT)

Karenni Religion, Culture Development Committee (KRCDC)

Kayan Women Union-Thailand (KyWU-T)

Contact Information

Moe Moe Aung

089 957 1867

Barbara and Stefan's Wedding - 25 Aug in Trug, Emmental, Switzerland

2007-08-27T07:59:00.000Z

Die Schule's out

2007-08-24T12:21:00.000Z

Today was our final German class.

We'd signed up for an intensive language course, which it certainly was, though it had the concurrent and inevitable 'free gift' of being an intensive socialisation process too.

The things we've learned about each other through daily exposure every weekday for the past month. Seemingly innocuous at first, in retrospect, it's quite incredible what our little exchanges in broken, unconjugated, ungrammatical and incoherent Deutsch have revealed about each person: our schedules, backgrounds, where we live, what we buy at the supermarket, etc.

A hodgepodge of photos from today's very relaxed session:

Manjit and Nicolas with 'der Ball' ...

... Daniel and Ramon during the number-guessing game ...

... Lino rising to the occasion as game moderator and scribe ...

... Daniel (the Younger) and Elma holding up the Young Persons' Front ...

... und Alles zusammen ...

10 steps to unsere gastfreundschaft

2007-08-17T20:20:00.001Z

What do we do when friends come a-visiting?

1. Welcome them with open arms!

2. Bombard them with 100 questions first thing in the morning after their overnight train journey.

3. Talk non-stop the entire afternoon. Stuff them silly with Swiss Delight (Sprungli's Luxembourgeli).

4. Drive them to the countryside and set them to work in the kitchen. Chop chop, we're already running late for dinner!

5. Photograph them with a 40 day old baby. Again ... and again.

6. Force-feed them schwarzwaelder torte (blackforest cake).

7. Wish them a good night's sleep on a (single) camping mattress.

8. Rouse them for breakfast at the crack of dawn so Ste can enjoy some airtime too.

9. Make them buy us lunch at a superb vegetarian restaurant in the city centre.

10. Send them off at the airport/train station ... but only after confirming plans for our next pleasurable encounter.

Road trip to Appenzell

2007-08-13T14:33:00.000Z

After a morning of toil for Deutschkurs and the reluctant but pragmatic acceptance of 'that's just how it is though it doesn't sound anything like the way I think it should', we set off on our short road trip to Appenzell.

Ste, determined that Wifey should see more of his beautiful country, particularly when it is sun-kissed and not snow-ridden, cleared the way for a perfect afternoon. Map? Check. Guide book? Check. Partner who nods off in moving vehicles? Check. Nothing would stand between us and the pristine, rolling Appenzellen countryside. Certainly not cloudy windscreens!

The town of Appenzell is a show-stopping Dulux dream. Historical facades the colour of sugary bon-bons: pastel pink, yellow, salmon ... and the grander ones with traditional motifs rendered in painstaking detail, a clear indication of the original owner's wealth and status.

Peeping out seductively from between the rows of houses was the region's famous undulating landscape - it's hilly ... hills. According to Ste, the locals say that you can't put down (and balance) a bowl of soup anywhere on Appenzell-land. We opted for a cake and pastry snack anyway.

We wandered past the outskirts of town, beyond the public swimming pool with a tangle of kindercarts parked outside and fellow walkers nodding, "Gruezi."

Thomas and Janine's wedding in Horgen, Switzerland (11 Aug)

2007-08-12T21:11:00.000Z

The chapter which isn't written ... will never be written

2007-08-07T21:12:00.001Z

August is upon us! This calls for a momentous monthly page-turning of the desktop calendar! Pa da dum ...

I bought the calendar in Stone Town, Zanzibar, in March. It wasn't so much the Javed Jafferji photography (Mzee J. is the Father of all coffee table books about Zanzibar) which called out to me, but rather the Kiswahili proverbs. One for every month of the year.

After all, I had it in my mind that the cadence of a foreign language often makes a person seem more knowledgeable. And worldly. Cultured. Well-traveled. Informed. Able to identify months and dates in a single bound.

So anyway, the thought-provoking proverb for this month (accompanied by an awesome photo of a dhow sailing into the sunset) is:

Nahodha wengi, chombo huenda mrama.
A ship with many captains does not sail properly.

The allusion seems fairly obvious, in a 'too many cooks spoil the broth' way. Though that pales in comparison to my favourite one, from April:

Nyani haoni kundule huona kundu la mwenziwe.
The ape does not see his own backside, he sees his companion's.

Indeed. And that is why I keep mine all covered up, out of sight and out of mind.

But seriously, there is much room for interpretation (and misinterpretation) of this particular proverb. My own sense of it is that it's far easier to figure out someone else's ... toosh, than one's own. Although ... that isn't necessarily the case if things unfold in the manner of Ste's phrase of doom - 'gone tits up'.

Looking ahead, I think November's is profound in its sheer simplicity:

Hakuna siri ya watu wawili. There is no secret between two people.

Now that is a winner.

Joy in many packages

2007-08-05T20:33:00.000Z

This has been a regular weekend. At last! Exactly what we needed. Time to relax, catch up with friends and catch our breaths.

Saturday night we watched Gandhi (passed onto us by Daren) on our new telly and DVD player. That warranted a full TV dinner of crisps, pizza, cider and ice-cream. The film was compelling, daunting, tragic, stirring and inspiring all at once. There was anger, there were tears ... and heartened smiles. There was also plenty of action on screen.

Ste said I get too emotionally engrossed in epics. I was too emotionally engrossed to reply and jabbed him in the ribs - SHHH! Stop talking during the movie lah!

I contemplated having a bit of a lie-in on Sunday Morgen till I saw that the sun was out - it was an utterly beautiful day! We took a short walk to the Mobility car (a Swiss car sharing scheme) further up on Minervastrasse, then cruised slowly along the Gold Coast of the Lake of Zurich to Rapperswil. Lunch at Van and Wilfried's was a tasty Thai-Swiss affair: tangy veggie salads with rice and kartoffel gratin mit poulet.

Van and I met at Integrationkurs and have somehow managed to bridge the language barrier (our own Southeast Asian Roestigraben ... a Stickyreisgraben?) and foster enough friendly feelings to haul our spouses together for a group activity.

In the late afternoon, we made our way to Schindellegi, to visit the new little man of the Dhall-Mahan house, Siddarth. Or as Ste fondly refers to him, 'Sid the Kid'. Siddharth was on his best behavior most of the time, wanting to be where the action (and guests) were to show off his pacifier-sucking skills - very impressive for a 38 day old baby!

When he isn't exercising his lungs or refining internal bodily motions, the little Rocky Balboa subscribes to a vigorous regimen of push-ups, arching his head and body backwards when he's on his tummy, punching the air with sweeping uppercuts and hooks. We were extremely impressed ... though I couldn't get over just how tiny his training togs were.

Uncle Ste, with his nurturing side bubbling to the fore, couldn't resist carrying the adorable Baby Sid, impressing all present with his confident baby-handling technique. Not to be outdone, a markedly less self-assured Aunty Alicia posed next to Uncle Ste, artfully supporting his hand as it supported Baby's head.

Coming to terms at the start of term

2007-08-02T20:44:00.000Z

German class started on Monday. It runs daily from 9.00am-12.50pm till end-August. And yes, that's the sound of my brain frying in the background. Ooh the heartwarming sizzle of gray matter. Leave off the salt, please.

My main motives for learning Deutsch (a.k.a why I show up every morning with homework done) are:

(i) to have a proper, un-aided conversation with Ste's Uncle Hansueli this Christmas. I think he's rather sick of hearing my jokes via proxy (or rather, Ste is sick of being the proxy) and I'm even putting some advance prep into it so none of the brilliant nuances get mired in translation.

(ii) to pressure Ste into bringing me for a karaoke session in Zuerich (my favourite hits at the moment are Herbert Groenemeyer's Ein Stueck vom Himmel and Du bist Die, plus Silbermond's Das Beste, all of which I've been struggling to croon to on YouTube (with lyrics palmed off the Net of course).

And now that we're at the end of the first week of Deutschkurs, I can add a third:

(iii) to figure out how it's statistically possible that nearly half the class is so unbelievably and embarrassingly good-looking (and I mean Calvin Klein photo ad model quality) while the rest of us mooch about like faceless extras on the set. As I look across the classroom at the beautiful and ebullient young 'uns, I'm floored by how much older I am ... than I actually feel.

Egad, an elephant in the post!

2007-07-30T22:01:00.001Z

Forgetfulness is an excellent excuse for One's mindless trespasses. When administered with a helping of sheepish grin and two measures of edible peace offering (I don't mean arsenic ... or my home cookin'), the old 'forgive and forget' is an efficacious salve and is almost certain to mollify the offended party.

However, any salubrious kickbacks are entirely vaporised should One, ever-so-absentmindedly, be in the possession of a torrid past AND childhood friends with elephantine (=massive+long+thick-skinned) memory banks. Deadlier still if those school buddies have in their possession, collections of incriminating ephemera churned out during One's murky teenage years. The Past, when it comes back, generally means to haunt. And only after It has indulged in an attention-seeking ditty with over-exuberant jiggling and under-dressed jigglies.

I might have gone ahead and denied everything ... except that with kith AND kin checking in on this blog now (and no thanks to those of you goading my Mom on for more gory morsels ... bad, bad Rosh!), the past has come trick o' treating.

So here I am with the evidence - grinning ... and baring it.

P. S. Thanks Janelle, that was one heck of a slide down memory lane! ; )

Is it all about location, location, location?

2007-07-30T21:22:00.001Z

DESTIN gals by the Zurichsee, May 2007

Claudia en route from NYC-Crete-Santiago (Chile), me en route from Dar es Salaam-Zurich-London, and Abhilasha en route from London-Zurich-Schindellegi ... into motherhood.

Bon voyage, all!

Doctor, doctor!

2007-07-26T21:09:00.000Z

You know how in kindergarten when there's always that one kid who has to throw up during the national anthem, opting to cry helplessly rather than make a desperate dash to the toilet, that would have saved everyone a whiff of putrid kiddy breakfast ...

Or that weirdo perched silently on the floor next to his/her classmates, ne'er uttering a word till King Pong hits and Teacher makes everyone stand up, only to discover -lo and behold- a perfect little turd smeared on the music room carpet ...

There is, indeed, drama in real life even at that tender age.

Well, tonight I regress and join (note: NOT re-join) the less-than-illustrious ranks of juvenile classroom wimps. Taken hostage by an affliction that is dramatic as it is inconvenient. Whining and moaning as I bury my face in heaps of already speckled tissues, suffering inconsolably from what Ste has curtly declared a garden variety nosebleed. Right before he trotted off to bed.

Is there no compassion in this world?!!

The Duchamp raider

2007-07-25T20:42:00.001Z

I actively try to simplify and minimise my collection of worldly possessions.

Ste, to the contrary, is an instinctive hoarder and -as if that weren't debilitating enough- takes perverse glee in promoting that distressing trait as a mark of sophistication. Imagine a squirrel in overdrive, building up its massive acorn arsenal for the coming winter. Yup.

Friends consistently ooh and aah -rather unhelpfully, in my opinion- at his sizeable personal collections of (i) loose leaf tea; (ii) books; and (iii) neckties. Keeping in mind the Lilliputian dimensions of our humble abode (ie. a tiny 2-bedroom flat), every bit of living space matters. Like the aforementioned bushy-tailed rodent, Ste too is awash with feelings of comfort and security whenever he surveys his vast accumulation. A wistful smile breaks as he contemplates further (i) blends; (ii) titles; and (iii) colours to be acquired.

There remains an important difference, though. Unlike the squirrel's carb-, protein- and fat-packed stores which will see it comfortably through till Spring, should Zurich ever be ravaged by a most brutal winter, Ste and I -the literate, tea-drinking homo sapiens sporting trendy psychadelic neck accessories- would starve.

Outlived, ironically enough, by the scampering, beady-eyed creature with an acorn-sized brain.

2007-07-24T07:41:00.000Z

SUPPORT ONEWORLD GUIDES AND GLOBAL CITIZENSHIP EDUCATION

Singapore National Day Reception, Geneva

2007-07-23T20:53:00.000Z

I've never wavered on my impression of home and what it holds for me.
But what does that same home mean to everyone else, those who are also away?

Got no answers, it's a process.
Me, I'm slowly getting re-acquainted with Singapore through overseas Singaporeans.

Photos from TCS website

Ba da bing ba da breakfast

2007-07-20T20:49:00.000Z

So, you know what They say ...

Old Chinese cooks never die, they just wok away.

Old bankers never die, they just lose interest.

Old accountants never die, they just lose their balance.

Old lawyers never die, they just lose their appeal.

Old upholsterers never die, they just never recover.

I don't have an oily knack with puns and such. But my 2 Rappen contribution is ...

Old friends never die, they just meet for continental breakfast in a foreign city at bloody 8.30 in the morning because they have flights to catch.*

*Or shopping to do, as in Michelle's case. Scandalous, I tell you!

After 22 years (and counting) of friendship, there's no fresher way to say it.

What big teeth you have ... so macho!

2007-07-19T09:48:00.001Z

My placid, peace-loving parents recently welcomed a new addition to the household. Meet The New Dog - part bull terrier, part shark. Check out those jaws ("er, what big teeth you have ...") ... the sturdy frame ... the thick, muscular neck. Mindlessly named 'Boy' by its previous owners before they abandoned it at the SPCA, my well-meaning mother cheerfully took it upon herself to revive its sense of canine self-esteem with a more appropriate monicker.

Daren and I lobbied for 'Brutus' -indeed, from 'brute'- and in my brother's words, "That dog's body is rock hard". I also campaigned briefly and unfruitfully for 'T-bag', an allusion to its darjeeling/assam-stained coat (as an aside, the dog had coughing fits when my folks first brought it home, so I modified my bid to from 'T-bag' to 'TB' ... another non-starter).

In the end, Mom prevailed and 'Macho' it is.

Burger that, Burgher!

2007-07-18T19:14:00.000Z

I say I'm vegetarian because I think it just simplifies things. What I really am though is pescatarian, though I've learned the hard way that what people tend to hear (right after they give me the evil eye for springing an unnecessarily foreign-sounding -and possibly new agey- word into my dietary preference) is episcopalian. Which, as everyone knows, is an entirely different basket of fish and loaves altogether. Go figure.

Being pescatarian implies that I don't get a lot of all-beef-patty -with or without the special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on the sesame seed bun- kind of action. Which is why the last fortnight has been somewhat unusual, for its recurring burger imagery.

i. Filet-o-Fish BURGER in Basel on a Friday night with newfound friends Danielle, Julie, Barbara and Nthatisi, the mellow conference crowd. I would not otherwise have entered the Golden Arches.

ii. Sprungli's LuxemBURGERli in Zurich with Janelle and Derek, who were visiting from Los Angeles. I believe they gave the exquisite melt-in-your-mouth macaroons four thumbs up (in all).

And finally, to no less acclaim, Stefan Altorfer-Ong in full graduation regalia, as if he'd just walked off the set of Auguste Rodin's real-life mock-up for ...

iii. the BURGHERS of Calais live -one night only, sold out!- performance in the Peacock Theater. He even got a standing ovation from his long-suffering, draft-editing, fellow student spouse.

While in Brussels ... early July

2007-07-15T19:24:00.000Z

Saturday afternoon with the DESTIN girls in Brussels was a real treat - my little hubby-sponsored holiday before the onset of conference season. Rosh and I had both visited the city before, so there was no mad scramble to photodocument major tourist sites.

Rosh, being the extreme foodie on a mission, suggested hitting the major chocolatiers. We needed no convincing. With Lizza and Charlotte's combined navigational acumen, the four of us darted through the crowded streets like bloodhounds sniffing a fox's trail. I purchased a few bars, only to taste of course, and stood my ground, bravely defending my newly procured white chocolate in the face of scorn and disdain. Oh the damnable colour bar!

On the way to dinner, we paid homage to the oft-bypassed and currently non-micturating Jannekin Pis (situated obscurely at the end of a rather forgettable alley), the demure sibling of the more-adored and gushing Mannekin Pis. I nodded somberly, noting that even national landmarks face gender discrimination.

The weekend went by all too quickly and Sunday afternoon came a-knocking before we had downed the last nectarine. David and Lizza delivered us safely to our respective points of departure (Bruxelles-Midi for me, Charleroi for Rosh), we said our farewells and 'see you agains', with the next meeting tentatively set in summer. These frequent catch-ups surely promote sustainability and social capital.

I boarded the train and 8 hours (2 wailing babies + 1 ill-behaved boy scout troupe) later, was back at Zurich HB. Hop, bunny, hop.

Scribbles made while captive on a stranded train, Thionville station

2007-07-02T12:59:00.000Z

Cows are excellent for some things: dairy products and beef are prime (rib) examples. Entire national economies and gastronomic cultures have been built around them.

On a less laudatory note, cows are blooming useless beyond those specified boundaries. On railway tracks, for instance. They are infuriatingly massive, immovable obstructions. Right now, they are standing between me and my weekend in Brussels.

Received wisdom teaches that music moves even the savage beast ... but -alas- what will dislodge the stubbornly vacuous (undoubtedly derived from the root 'vaca') one? Temperatures are rising and pretty soon tempers will flare.

Forget the frites, gimme some ground beef ... hot off the rails.

There was also that beautiful weekend in Sonthofen

2007-06-26T15:35:00.000Z

Alfred, Ste's colleague, was in a pretty serious cycling accident 2 months ago. But he managed to get back on his feet (plus two crutches) for his wedding last weekend and was spectacular on the dance floor! Congratulations again to Alfred and Simone Lederhuber ;0)

So you wanna know whassup ...

2007-06-26T14:55:00.001Z

Roshini nagged me on Facebook this morning. Her precise words were, "Eh, can you please update your blog! I know you're bored of revising your thesis ..."

To quote the wise words of the phenomenally successful Budweiser Whassup?! ad campaign - true, true. So here is my feeble attempt at an update.

Having been rather uninspired of late, I decided to let this little midday SMS exchange between the Altorfer-Ongs do all the talking. A closer reading and a dash of literary prac crit (a la Ms. Nathan's class) will reveal all the subtle elements of daily life in merry Minervastrasse 27.

Ste: wie war deutsch test?

Me: booje booje boo boom shakalaka boom

Ste: meaning? just boochie boochie boo or also shakkalakka?

Me: it was ok - i convinced them quite effortlessly that i'm an ideal candidate for the beginners' course

Ste: am sure you'll make quick progress. really appreciate you are doing this

Me: i also bought bread and toilet paper - life's essentials. and also butter, one of life's little luxuries

Ste: am proud of you indeed. thanks for buying all the stuff. am looking forward to my next dump, then :-)

Me: i'm sure the UBS loo will appreciate that generously-sized deposit

Ste: ... makes me wonder who's the smart ass here :-)

Enough said? To be read and relished!

It was such a happy day, full of love, laughter and sunshine! 2 June, the J&J connection

2007-06-15T09:50:00.000Z

"Let us pray for God's blessings for everyone here - family and friends who have travelled from near and far to celebrate Justin and Julia's love. May He give us the strength and conviction to continue nurturing our friendships and relationships; that they should never suffer because of distance or time, but grow ever stronger from the richness and appreciation of our experiences."

Integration and differentiation

2007-05-24T10:24:00.000Z

Being married to a Swiss man has its perks. He has a sense of general hygiene and will wash, wash up after Himself, and sort out His own ironing. He is handy in the kitchen and well applied around the house, having attended technical course ... and knitting class ... at school. All this, while being ecologically sound as well, phwoar!

Now, living in Zurich and being married to a Swiss man definitely has its perks (note: the photo is of Solothurn, though). New arrivals, like me, can register for the 'Integration Course for Women' which is run by the City in TEN languages this term, reflecting the demand and diversity amongst foreigners here - Albanian, Arabic, English, French, German, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, Thai and Turkish.

This morning we had a 'soft' session, Lesson 2: Swiss folklore and traditions. Here is a taster from the hand-out - it's pretty interesting from an anthropological point of view:

The Silvesterklause tradition is confined to the area surrounding the village of Urnasch. Groups of men in elaborate costume go from farmhouse to farmouse, where they sing and greet the inhabitants for the New Year. The so-called 'forest' or 'nature' Klause wear pine-cone masks and dress in foliage. Like the other kinds of Klause - the 'beautiful' and the 'ugly' ones, they also wear bells, which they clank as loudly as possible when they finish their performance. The Klause who lead and end the procession wear round bells, while the others wear flat cow bells. This custom takes place on January 13th, the date of the New Year according to the Julian calendar.

I guess foliage is always a safe bet when it comes to festive fashion. Honestly though, I'm not entirely convinced about the bells, which to a Sylvesterklause amateur like myself, would probably only herald in a ringing headache. And so the pamphlet continues ...

Bern's onion market, held on the fourth Monday in November, is one of the biggest annual markets in Switzerland and draws thousands of visitors. On sale are onions braided into strings and made into items of all kinds. Visitors throw confetti at each other and drape strings of luridly coloured sweets round their necks. Children -and not only children- hit passers-by with squeaking plastic hammers.

One cannot help but be impressed by the ingenuity of the Bernese - after all, not just anyone can come up with a variety of ingenious renditions of the humble onion! Notwithstanding, I reserve (mature, adult) comment on the squeaky plastic hammers. Perhaps that's more Ste's scene, though I can't say for sure - the topic has never come up in day-to-day conversation.

Unique to Zurich is Sechseluuten, which Ste attended but I unfortunately missed, in April ...

the culmination of the day's festivities is the burning of the winter effigy, the Boogg. The Boogg, looking like a snowman and stuffed with firecrackers, stands on a huge woodpile which is lit when the cathedral bells ring out 6 o'clock. The moment when the Boogg's head explodes marks the official end of winter. And the faster this happens, the longer and hotter the summer is meant to be.

I hope, for my sake, that the poor sod's head detonated at the stroke of 6. The weather's been beautiful the past week; as far as I'm concerned, summer has begun!

Jennie and Tobias' wedding in Dorset, 12 May 2007

2007-05-15T21:09:00.000Z

Scrapbook

2007-05-08T22:11:00.000Z

A tiny, almost-tossed-out memento from one of my daladala rides: I boarded at Hugo House on Kinondoni Road and alighted at the Orthodox Church just before Maktaba Street. Cost: 200 Shillings

And this, a somewhat less rosy -but more permanently emblazened- memory of my Dar days, thanks to the territorial sun.

Evidently the zebras weren't the only ones sporting stripes.

Chapter 1: Amortising a debt of kindness

2007-05-07T18:20:00.000Z

Ali insisted on walking me to Posta, the central daladala stop. It wasn't far from his flat, just 15 minutes at an easy trot, but I felt bad because he had already extended me a great courtesy.

I had rung him on his mobile the day before, completely out of the blue, brandishing all the shiny telemarketing hooks (1. Researcher from the LSE; 2. Singaporean living in Switzerland; 3. Articulate yet harmless female with well-meaning questions and no previous record of badgering her subjects) to win myself a piece of his time.

It was a case that I had pleaded with other interviewees before, an argument which doesn't get any easier with practice - "Please meet me for a chat ... it will be of no discernible benefit to you but might potentially revolutionise my doctoral research and save my sorry little behind ..."

There was a long pause (1001 ... 1002 ... 1003 ... 1004 ...) and then a meandering umm. At that point, I cast away any remaining scruples and foisted myself shamelessly on the poor soul, offering to postpone my impending departure date if he would see me. He quaked ... and I heaved a sigh of relief. Then I promptly did what I always do before an important meeting - gnaw away anxiously at my right thumb. For luck.

Ali appeared where he said he would, when he said he would, and suggested that we talk in his family home. It was a modest and tidy third-floor flat and he passed someone some Shillings to get me a Coke. We sat in the armchairs by the window. Two young children climbed onto his lap, arching their backs ever so often to keep the visitor in sight. He cleared his throat and began,

"你如果要研究中国和坦赞尼亚的外交，那你应该先研究中国的历史，而你必须了解那个社会里的矛盾 ..." (something to that effect anyway, but with better grammar and more flourish)

Ali grew up in China - he had attended a local school and graduated with two degrees from Chinese colleges. And so the conversation flowed: halting questions in English (yours truly) and expansive replies in fluent Mandarin (from him). Whatever the case, we had created a two-way street.

When the time came for me to leave, he offered to send me off. I thanked him profusely, for his time, his family's time and ... well, for having agreed to see me in the first place. Ali smiled good-naturedly and brushed my embarrassment aside, "I have often been the recipient of much kindness from strangers ... so don't thank me. This is something small I can give back."

I went to learn

2007-05-06T16:48:00.000Z

I'm back from Tanzania. It wasn't a long trip -all of 7 weeks- but plenty happened in that time. The 10 days preceding my safari home were a dream, jampacked with the most incredible interviews and encounters.

There were too many lessons, there is far too much to write: relevant information, conflicting emotions, vivid poetry, contemporary analysis, lurid imagery, oral history, jubilant ululation ... and all that tongue-basting ugali ...

I am humbled by how little I will ever know about the questions I am purportedly interested in. In the words of a special Mzee, "There are certainly some benefits to having been born earlier." And I missed that boat, The Glory Days, by a clean decade.

So here is my Pesambili's worth for now ... an intimate primate moment en route to Ngorongoro Crater -

"This sure beats navel-gazing ..."

Yes, I'm procrastinating

2007-03-08T18:30:00.000Z

As I see it, the main trouble with doing research -apart from having to think- is the isolation. I work from home (in the study, which is all of 2 paces from the bedroom) and can get through pretty much the entire day not having uttered a word ... save for a cuss under the breath when I've stubbed my little toe. Even that exclaimation is economised, barely escaping my cracked lips as a "FFFffff ..."

This solitude runs plainly against the grain of my personality. I'm certain I've complained about this before but -heck- just for the record, I'm gonna play it again, Sam.

As you well know, I have an exceedingly high dependence on human interaction. And I don't mean the five-sen, ten-sen occasional small talk with random neighbour in the cellar (where the washing machines are chained) or Coop cashier, well meaning though they may be.

But rather a rich and succulent rump of high quality, unadulterated free-ranging conversation which means something. With people who mean a lot.

So thank heavens for instant messaging. And for all the people on it who help sustain me through the days of silence!

The rain that I remember

2007-03-07T19:09:00.000Z

Fat, warm, soggy
Waves rolling down from the sky
In a crushing embrace

Plastering down my hair
Flooding my ears
Making my pinafore cling

I run out to play
Swimming on land
Knowing I will not drown

Then the instinctive drive to
Puddle-pounce, arms out and
Head bent upwards to the sky

Raindrops mix with drool
As I splatter and squeal
With delight at the reaffirmation

That in some crude,
Sophisticated or scientific way
-But surely surely-
Someone has pulled out all the stops
And loves me still

"... I would hate to come after that"

2007-03-01T08:19:00.000Z

Wow. Those Oscars are really something. Quite an event, especially for an unplugged, non-film buff, non-telly owning bore (boor?) like meself. Managed to watch it all the way through in my parents' living room though ... because, heck, they are actually 'with' the times and have a telly.

I was surprised. In spite of having zero moolah riding on the results (was dead broke after handing out all those New Year hongbaos, lost the remaining pennies to ruthless cousins over Black Jack), the spirit was still rather infectious.

My personal highlights were (1) the choir which clicked, whooshed and hummed the Soundtrack of Daily Life most magnificently; (2) the acrobatic troupe and their enigmatic shadow-posing which moved even the most avant garde wayang kulit maestro; (3) Nicole Kidman's lipstick red gown ... and her well-matched statuesque frame; (4) that Scottish guy who played the doctor in The Last King of Scotland (hurrah, one movie that I DID watch!).

Apart from the annoying woman who kept gushing over Martin Scorsese (I suppose she's someone rather famous to be seated next to him ... wife? Rabid and uncontrollable fan?), the flubbing announcement which claimed Infernal Affairs for Japan instead of Hong Kong, and George Clooney (smoldering or not, his self-assured grin irritates the hell outta me), it was a decent way to spend my last morning in Singapore. 9.30am till 1pm.

I texted Michelle to see if she was tuned in. Ste and I were at her London flat at the same time last year, glamourously decked out in our pyjamas -Nic's stylist wasn't available, you understand- and sprawled ON the carpet. This year, Michelle was in Sydney for work, possibly clinching some multi-billion dollar deal for that company with the bull mascot.

But film is never far from her heart.

So I would like to take this opportunity to rouse the loyalist cause amongst those of us who know her, to set things in motion.

It’s all there - action, intrigue and corporate perversity. Singapore-born director Michelle Teo Su Ying brings together a stellar cast led by London-based heart-throb Shri Jayakumar in this original screenplay, The Interview.

Cuba Libre con las chicas

2007-02-15T17:06:00.000Z

As Ste celebrated his birthday solo in Zuerich, I was out with the girls for a Valentine's drink ... apologies to my favourite mammal!

Time and tide wait for no ... jellyfish

2007-02-11T17:29:00.000Z

We walked along the beach behind Bhupi's house this afternoon. The tide had brought in a bumper serving of jellyfish, each and every one a menacing tyre of translucent rubber grounded in the sand.

About halfway down the stretch of beach, we came across a small pavilion tended to by a friendly masseuse. While Gamma and I took turns getting our feet expertly pummelled by the hefty therapist, Bhups seized the opportunity to sink into his signature pensive state.

Quite possibly mulling over complex strategies for increasing people's choices through expanding their opportunity sets. Or some other similarly Sen-esque notion.

We continued the stroll after dinner, this time ambling animatedly down memory lane, poring over photos of the DESTIN days which were saved in my Little Rocket (the new laptop).

A shot of 'Then', at Justin's in Tenbury Wells, in the summer of 2003. And 'Now', as wizened but no less spirited 30-somethings.

Tentative plans have already been tabled for the next reunion, hopefully in summer, at another special place.

2007-02-10T19:50:00.000Z

Day 2 of Phuket retreat:

- Woke up in time to join Gamma for yoga in the garden, pursued the lotus and overstretched my muscles to the therapeutic and tempering sound of waves breaking gently on the sand. Met the gardener, who was without balaclava (usually his accessory of choice when tending to the lawn, or so I've been told - we're still trying to figure that one out).

- Enlightening conversation with Bhupi about Indian politics ... while G very adroitly whipped up a mouthwatering lunch. Cooed about how heavenly the meal was.

- B took us on a driving tour of some nearby beaches, a vantage point overlooking the bays and an elephant safari park with a young trainee elephant named Tong and a capricious gibbon called Charlie.

- Parked ourselves on the beach. Relaxed, read and napped. Watched the sun set behind an obstructive islet and practiced our chit chatting skills till it got dark.

- Overate at Nature Restaurant, while a pair of gobbing goldfish gazed at as through the telly. The restaurant is decked out in recycled/recyclable items as decor features.

- Adjourned to a local club with a lively band and good music. They played a mix of Thai pop and English pop classics/hits. Boogied on down till nearly 2am, which I hadn't done in ages!

Touchdown Phuket

2007-02-09T17:47:00.000Z

This reunion was first hatched by Gamma and Bhupi on Yahoo! IM. It was too good to miss, particularly as I was planning to be in the region en route to Singapore for Chinese New Year. Therefore unbypassable!

Here we are now, a month after the idea was first mooted -how's that for efficiency?- having arrived from our respective locations in Bishkek and Zuerich to convene merrily at Bhupi's spacious pad.

Gamma's photographs (thanks!) say it best: Day 1 in Phuket ...

On the move again

2007-02-07T00:02:00.000Z

Yes, of course I'm excited! I have a date with Gamma and Bhupi in heavenly Phuket on Friday ... and then will travel onward to meet my folks on Monday, in Singapore. It will be really wonderful to celebrate Chinese New Year with the extended family after having been away the past 4+ years.

The flipside to this is, that for a task-oriented, schedule-making, routine-loving person like me, constant change can be exacting on the nerves and energy. I am not the spring chicken that I once was. Resilient, yes, but not invincible. It only occured to me a couple of days ago, when I sat down and thought things through (rationally, as one does) that I have been away at least once every month since last April.

April (Switzerland), May (France, USA), June (Singapore), July (China), August (India, Oman), September (Switzerland, Cyprus), October (moved to Switzerland, Tanzania), November (Tanzania), December (Tanzania), January (UK).

I have many wonderful memories, but this year I'll also have to figure out a healthy balance that will allow me to grow some roots right where I am. To be a part of a community. With Ste, in Switzerland. I would hate to miss out on living Life.

Kitchen scenes

2007-02-06T23:10:00.000Z

Selena once told me that anyone who can read, can cook. The simple logic being that following a recipe requires the bare minimum of innate culinary flair. Though it would, undeniably, be a boon. To the partakers of the meal most of all.

In (a somewhat limp) defence of my own appalling cooking skills, I should state for the record that I passed Home Economics class in Lower Secondary School. Scoring more respectably in the sections on blanket stitching, nutrition and 'feminine health' in the exam no doubt, but securing an overall pass nonetheless.

I am thus suitably capable of mending my stockings, prescribing prune juice to constipated friends and IDing fallopian tubes in an anatomical chart of the female body. But not boil an egg.

So imagine our good fortune when Abhilasha and Munish came to stay: we have relished every hot, home-cooked meal since their arrival, always a mouthwatering spread ... let me just say that talented friends really up the quality (and flavour) of day-to-day life!

2007-01-12T13:50:00.000Z

There is a thread on the English Forum (for English-speaking expats living in Switzerland) titled "Ikea - more trusted than the church". The post mentions a survey done in Sweden on how much people trust various institutions. Ikea, surprisingly ... or not, some might say, emerged head, shoulders, and then some, ahead of the church. A whole 14 notches, it is claimed.

That has spawned a growing list of responses - hilarious on one hand, if you're a not-even-Sunday (or feast day) Catholic like me, and perhaps a slightly (but only ever-so-) disturbing snapshot of the evolution of paradigms on the other. Borrowing from one of the Team Ikea entries, 8 weeks isn't too long to wait for a delivery ... versus pretty much eternity for deliverance.

Being rather clueless first-time furniture buyers, the first Ikea sofa Ste and I set our hearts on at Spreitenbach had a 6 week wait for home delivery. I was in Dar when the sofa was due and was devasted when Ste called to say that it couldn't fit through the front door. It wasn't so much the doorway but the dastardly narrow entry corridor which stood between us and the desired Kramfors.

So wait we did, another 6 weeks, for The Second Coming of the Smaller Settee.

And I am pleased to announce that it arrived this afternoon, in all its glory and split leather radiance, ascending to our fourth floor abode in the safe carriage of two deliverymen.

Jo the Jaded Assassin

2007-01-08T15:58:00.000Z

The indomitable Jo-Anne Lee is back onstage as the Jaded Assassin (uncanny that it should rhyme with "kicks your ass in" - which is precisely what Soon-Jal, the lead character does with limbre and full-bodied dexterity).

Heads up to those in New York City, something absolutely unmissable to pen in your diaries for February, CATCH THIS SHOW!

2007-01-04T12:19:00.000Z

I hate not knowing what to do when a friend is in pain. Especially when I can't claim solidarity through shared experience. I cannot purport to know the trauma or numbness.

I am otherwise helpless but would like to offer what I can - neither strings nor words ... just two bony but steady shoulders and cartons of triple-ply Kleenex.

And the promise of savoury crepes and sparkling water (in chilled glasses) at Our Usual Place next summer.

Hot shit coming your way!

2007-01-02T17:09:00.000Z

Check out Ata and Amanda's latest project - mindblowing stuff! Can't wait to get my hairy hands and monkey feet on the merchandising ...

Ho ho holy Christmas

2006-12-30T00:06:00.000Z

Belated Christmas greetings!

Nativity scene in Cameroonian bible. Image photographed at Catholic Museum in Bagamoyo, Tanzania.

Other photos from our day trip to Bagamoyo town and Kaole ruins ...

2006-12-21T23:24:00.000Z

Plot 1297 Pieta Lane in Masaki was my home away from home in Dar es Salaam ... though it was really Doreen and Fab's comfortable pad before I appeared (and stuck) like a bad rash for weeks on end. Well ... at least I didn't fester!

The flat was my sanctuary after difficult days at the archives ("Sorry, the files you requested are behind piles of boxes") and welcome shelter from the sweltering afternoon heat.

There were enjoyable conversations every evening over ndizi na samaki, pilipili pizza or tasty chapati. Occasionally there would be a managed disagreement over Coca Cola (the equality of distribution and consumption) but ultimately, peace always prevailed.

Ritz the garden dog was unresponsive to my friendly overtures and energetic patting. For the record, every other canine I've encountered has consistently melted like putty at my hands. This one was a tough nut.

By default I developed a better rapport with Harvey, the well-maintained (and behaved) car.

You remind me of a babe - What babe? - The babe with the power - What power?

2006-11-21T12:58:00.000Z

To inject some levity to my overt listlessness, Ahmed, house manager of the flat I'm staying in, gave me a little -too much, I'd say- background on 'magic' as it's practiced on the Islands.

Voodoo isn't a word that's used here, but in any case, there is apparently a closed circle of witch doctors who offer a menu of imaginative spells to suit clients' demands. "Mostly for good," he added ... in an attempt to appear less creepy, "... for example if you want to communicate with the dead." After which he promptly elaborated on a disturbing 'disappearance' (read: kidnapping) ritual that didn't sound goodly at all. Then there were the shark attacks at Coco Beach (in Dar) - apparently completely attributable to a group of vengeful fisherman who had summoned up Jaws-like attacks against those who were pilfering their catch.

I didn't want to get into that discussion. And I didn't quite appreciate the fact that it was an obviously BAD CHOICE of evening conversation material. Clearly I've hammed up my chicken licken bravado just a tad too much.

Pink's position - published and acknowledged

2006-11-21T12:49:00.000Z

Three thumbs up for Pink's letter to the Editor of London's METRO. It was published today and highlights the institutional apathy (or bias?) in dealing with drug rape. Please read :

RAPISTS, NOT VICTIMS, ARE ONES AT FAULT

Despite the findings of the Association of Chief Police Officers, drug rape is not a 'myth.' The association's report, not yet available to the public, cites a lack of evidence of Rohypnol and GHB in the blood of a sample of women who reported assult under the influence of these drugs. However, nowhere was it noted that the substances leave the system of the victim in a short period - in some cases as quickly as six hours.

Given that it takes up to an hour to take effect and that the amnesia effects can last for several hours, by the time the woman has found her way home, talked with friends and pieced together what has happened during her blackout, it is likely the drug will be out of her system before she has been attended to by the police.

In a country with the lowest conviction rate for rape in Europe, where police are reluctant to bring charges in cases where women have been drinking, to suggest that the behaviour of women is relevant to the criminal nature of these predatory acts shows a problem with our justice system.

Being myself

2006-11-20T15:02:00.000Z

So what does Madame Pathetique get up to in enigmatic Stone Town? Does she celebrate las frutas (frescas) del mar or go tripping the kingfish fantastic? Nope. Or perhaps lounge indulgently on the beach, in the glowing rays of the setting sun? Nein. Not even an indoor cerebral soak in the onetime-House of Wonders-now-Museum tickles her fitful fancy. And she is too broke for therapeutic retail recourse.

Get this - our self-declared tragic heroine fritters away her after-archive hours in the third floor flat on Hurumzi Street. Above the duka khanga on the ground floor and the family with friendly children ("Karibu! Karibu!"). She plays Snake II on the Nokia 8210. And Solitaire on the zonked-out Toshiba laptop. Overandoveragain. Pining rather pitiably for her partner.

My God, how time changes a person. The Me of Twenty would've scoffed and scorned at this staid and unadventurous person. I miss Routine.

Dust to dust in Stone Town

2006-11-19T10:21:00.000Z

My first afternoon in Stone Town. Feeling extremely drowsy from the pill I took this morning to stave off motion sickness. The ferry ride seemed uneventful enough for a start (most things are at bloody 7am anyway) till we docked at Zanzibar Terminal. A crowd of edgy men eyed our vessel closely as the shiphands cast, then lashed massive sisal ropes to the pontoon.

I caught sight of it, out of the corner of my eye. A rough hewn, pine-coloured coffin was delivered from the upper deck onto the waiting arms and shoulders onshore. The casket rode high and quickly on the human conveyor belt. In no time at all, it had disappeared from sight.

Less fleeting was the inconsolable woman in our midst. Once again, left behind.

Overwhelmed

2006-11-07T16:15:00.000Z

Jack Bauer is on in the background in my apartment, and I'm inclined to believe that Alicia does almost as much as him in a day. I swear it hasn't been that long since I last checked out the blog, and the entries seem to have grown in a geometric (rather than arithmetric) progression. And the most impressive element is that each entry is akin to a new chapter, a new development, a new insight. Golly gee, can you just lower yourself to the standards to a mere mortal?

As you can tell, I have absolutely nothing interesting to blog about. This is procrastination project number two this evening. The previous one was sorting out my 'new' mobile phone (and changing the basic language from Chinese to English), finding out that it doesn't have a standard ring tone (what's the deal with that), and surfing the Internet for potential ring tones (why are things just so hard to find out there). All in the span of a 'well-spent' four hours. The epitomy of efficiency!

Hope everyone is cool out there in cyberspace. It's unfortunately time to refocus back on the homework for tomorrow... or as I call it procrastination projection number three in the meantime.

PhD Submission

2006-10-30T12:30:00.000Z

Hot off the press - Ste submitted his tome to Senate House this afternoon and can now start a new chapter of life as A Normal Person. Well done, Darling :) Now we just have me to worry about.

Nitaenda safari

2006-10-27T13:13:00.000Z

I started this blog nearly a year ago, with a single, externally-motivated mandate - to practice writing. In one of our first university seminars on writing style, it was suggested that we keep writing throughout the 3-4 years of the PhD programme, be it in personal journals, for publication or leisure. That would purportedly hone our writing skills and keep the momentum going (hopefully) till the final year, for the decisive writing-up phase.

At that time my writing style was in obvious distress, in dire want of more polish and less patchiness. It's not immediately clear how far the situation has progressed since then, but at the very least, blogging has been an enjoyable way of keeping friends and family clued in on my neuroses ... the unexpected (and mostly unwanted) freebies with the doctoral package (buy 1 get 10 free - for life!).

This time tomorrow, my flight will just have landed in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. I'll be there for six weeks or so, till mid-December, for fieldwork in Dar, Zanzibar ... and possibly the capital city, Dodoma. I'm more excited than anxious about the trip now (it was the reverse until a couple of days ago), so if anything at least we know the Larium's kicking in.

The London chapter of our lives is still very much open while the drafts for Zurich and Dar are concurrently being scribbled in the margins. When I'm next back in Zurich it'll be just in time for Christmas, then New Year's ... and all-too-quickly, January. I am in pre-emptive shock.

My back-up PhD topic

2006-10-27T13:00:00.000Z

Now tell me this isn't a fascinating resource -

THE HUMBLE PIG (from Sounds of the World's Animals)

Afrikaans: oink-oink

Albanian: hunk hunk

Catalan: onk-onk

Chinese (Mandarin): hu-lu hu-lu

Croatian: rok-rok

Danish: øf

Dutch: Varkens knorren.

English: oink oink

English (Old English): Swin grunað.

Esperanto: grunt

Estonian: rui rui

Finnish: röh röh

French: groin groin

German: Schweine grunzen.

Hungarian: röf-röf-röf

Japanese: buubuu

Korean: kkool-kkool

Norwegian: nøff-nøff

Polish: chrum chrum

Portuguese (Brazil): croinh croinh

Russian: khryu-khryu

Spanish (Spain): oink-oink

Swedish: nöff

Thai: ood ood (with high tone)

Ukrainian: hrju-hrju

Vietnamese: ut-it

Welsh: soch, soch

Splitting sides, not hairs

2006-10-25T23:19:00.000Z

Two weekends ago I came across a short article in The Guardian magazine which utterly floored me. It parodied the quality of parenting in America and sent me into stitches and peals of laughter. Ste looked up from his rather more lugubrious choice of literature (it was either the NZZ or The Economist ... save for the latter's comic panel, which is consistently punchy) and over at me sprawled on the bed and convulsing with a crescendo of gasps and howls.

First one, then both of his eyebrows raised as I keeled over and started slapping my thighs to time. I had fallen victim to the author's potent quill and its relentless tickles. When I finally came to a good five minutes later, it dawned on me that laughter (the real guffaw) is GREAT, but that it had been so long since I'd had a prolonged bout of it.

Such a very long time ago in fact, in secondary school, when weekday afternoons were spent at the Orchard Emerald (or was it Midpoint Orchard, the green building?) Burger King with Robert the senior server and the gang. I can't remember what actually cracked us up then, but the laughter was regularly debilitating and made our tummies ache. I had to fight hard to tranquilize the neverending chuckles, if only to catch my breath ... and then pick up from right where I'd left off.

I hope good, solid laughter isn't something I've outgrown. It has been so elusive of late.

Blind faith

2006-10-18T13:49:00.000Z

What does this photograph show:
(i) a meeting of cultures;
(ii) a fusion of families;
(iii) perilous peer pressure?

Answer: none of the above.

It illustrates the universally-practiced, imagined immunity of chope.

Sigh.

2006-10-18T00:30:00.000Z

Under the more obvious Fear of Failure lies a perverse Fear of Success. There can be any number of reasonable excuses for not succeeding ... but once you've done well, in come Responsibility and Diligence to keep the flag flying high. No more serenity and anonymity from being divinely Mediocre.

The process of development

2006-10-17T23:07:00.000Z

"It's the end of an era!" Justin proclaimed, as he disappeared down the narrow corridor and into the lift, waving his right hand and steadying the clothes rack balanced awkwardly on his shoulder with the left. He had probably said it in half-jest, knowing full well that we will stay in touch ... yet sharing my unspoken anxiety about changes to come in the near future.

Justin P. Williams was the first English person I met on the Development Studies Master's programme in 2002. We were in the same Monday morning seminar group (DV400), in the dank basement of ... that building with Cafe Pepe and restrooms located on the staircase landing. Going against his better judgment, he accepted my point blank invitation for coffee and not too long after, we launched Friday group lunches in a joint bid to expand our circle of friends in the now non-existent Robinson Room. At the end of the year he graduated top of the class and I smacked myself for not having borrowed his notes.

A month and a half after I'd moved into a flat with Julia, whom I got along with swimmingly from the moment we met, a most wonderful thing happened - two good friends got together and breakfast conversation hit its zenith, with J&J, Ste and I, all in high spirits and alternately sporting pyjamas/work clothes, depending on who manged to edge into the shower first.

They were in Bern and Singapore ... and we shared innumerable happy times in London.

So here's the situation now - Julia's in Damascus, Ste's in Zurich, Justin's in London, and I'm heading off to Dar es Salaam next week. Somewhere between all our necessary travels, we must reconvene the 24 Wynford Road breakfast club.

Ten years since Chestnut Hill ...

2006-10-16T21:07:00.000Z

Photos from Carol and Georghios' wedding in Larnaca, Cyprus, in September.

The BC contingent was there in full force!

Project Procras ... tination

2006-10-16T12:49:00.000Z

Being the big kay-poh that I am, I definitely think that everyone should have an online profile in this age of high technology and global inter-connectedness. There's no excuse not to. Google-ability is the new black of contemporary social relations ... and business, as Puiming is so deftly demonstrating with The Dotted Line. Plus it would save me heaps of time trying to track down obscure bits of people's public (and documented) lives when I'm stoning unproductively at the PC past midnight.

So my latest distraction from things-I-should-actually-be-doing is a personal webpage. I've rationalised this as a good chance to launch some basic info about my research topic, academic training, etc. into webspace. As if there wasn't already enough stuff orbiting aimlessly about 'out there'.

It's an early draft, aesthetically bland ('rice paper' themed) and sans professionally taken unposed and natural looking portrait photo ... the kind journalists often have. I'll pep it up once I've gone for some classes on web design, then link formally to it via this blog. Don't hold your breath though, project procrastination #2 might be just round the corner.

The new academic year has started

2006-10-11T17:46:00.000Z

Photos from the recent LSE-Cambridge PhD workshop at Sidney Sussex College ...

Faster than a paddling swan

2006-10-08T19:54:00.000Z

No, I haven't left London - we're only releasing our flat on 19th October. Yes, I'm in Zurich right now, arrived a week ago. No, I'm not really based here ... yet. Yes, I'm continuing my PhD programme at the LSE. No, my field research will actually be in Tanzania. Yes, I'll be back in Switzerland ... in time for Christmas. No, I'm definitely keeping my Singaporean passport. Yes, there'll be more fieldwork in 2007, possibly in China as well. Nein, Ich spreche kein Deutch even though my partner is Swiss-German. But yes, I speak some Mandarin and am hobbling along with 1 to 10 in Swahili.

The trouble with me is that I take questions too seriously. My response to a friendly and innocuous, "How are you?" is the stampeding moral compulsion to brimmeth over with gory -albeit bone-janglingly precise- details. Judging from the perplexed looks I've been getting this past week, I should either opt for a more sedentary existence or cultivate a modicum of diplomatic self-restraint.

As I'm left to sort out that grand dilemma, here are photos from our first week in Zurich ... from cousin Matthias and Ursina's wedding, moving into Minervastrasse 27, assembling furniture, to welcoming our very first houseguests, Erina and Takahiro, who made their way over from Munich!

Undoubtedly Dotty

2006-10-08T19:47:00.000Z

Ladies, PLEASE check out The Dotted Line when you get the chance - Dorothy (Puiming) has some of the prettiest designs in town! International orders taken (mine have been logged in) and for those based in Singapore, free alterations for the next month!

Some photos from the Nanjing programme, July 2006

2006-10-03T22:28:00.000Z

Those salad days

2006-10-03T21:46:00.000Z

I used to love visiting friends' homes when I was a kid. It allowed for some juvenile investigative behavior on my part. From my general survey it appeared that many of my contemporaries were stellar athletes, academic brainiacs or bemedalled uniformed group members. Their living room display cabinets were more often than not crammed with sports trophies, book awards, embroidered badges, shiny pins, a veritable fest of everything gilded and ribboned.

In my thirty-one years as a sentient and partially productive being, I have only ever won 1 trophy. And what an almighty one it was, all of two-feet tall with a bulging thorax of plasticky gold (the strikingly same shade as the foil on chocolate coins), obligatory school crest, ribbons on each ear (in green, black and white), all perched on a laminate wood pedestal.

The inscription at the base of the trophy proudly declared,

SECOND PRIZE

Lower Secondary Salad Making Competition

Illustrious as that might sound, my leaf-tossing partner and I hadn't actually taken the competition all that seriously. Our end-product was some unfortunate mass of chicken mayo laid to rest on a bed of leafy greens. It was quite possibly Puiming's aesthetic touch which saved the day ... and the vinagrette.

Not entirely convinced by our own stab at the culinary rankings, we christianed the project 'Chicken Hoohah' - a half-dare with Fate so that if by some fluke (or sensory disability on the judges' part) we should win, then the MC would be pressed to announce the nonsensical name. Such is the arcane impenetrability of teenage humour.

As it turned out, Hoohah did us proud. But there is no chance for a replay of those salad days now I'm afraid, unless it's with mock chicken.

Rah rah

2006-10-03T21:15:00.000Z

There cannot possibly be a more inauspiciously titled book than this, but heck, it's a surefire winner as far as I'm concerned. Please put your hands together for the launch of The History of Financial Disasters 1763-1995, Volume I edited by the inimitable Stefan Altorfer, no less.

"I'll have whatever she ordered, please ..."

2006-09-27T17:45:00.001Z

I alighted at South Kensington tube station on the Picadilly Line and mindlessly followed the shoal of drifting bodies up the stairs, towards the long escalator going up to street level. There was a pretty girl some steps in front of me. I noticed her because she was striking, glowing with a natural, un-airbrushed, un-photo shopped presence.

She turned back, fixed her gaze on something behind me, and smiled extravagantly. I looked where she looked. There was a busker on the platform, strumming wildly on his guitar. How funny that I barely even heard his gnashing chords when I strode past him. This time I listened hard ... not an earth-shaking tune, but endorsed by a Beautiful Being, so my mind was more open to it. More open to making excuses for it.

"Must be a new strain of rock that only trendy people are clued in to," I rationalised irrationally to myself.

At the top of the escalator, I craned my neck to see where she would go ... secretly wishing that she would whirl into a cafe, confirming its pedigree (I would then appear all-knowing when recommending it to friends as the 'in' place).

I'm totally unlike her, not blond, tall, nor a fan of chang-chang music. But celebrity endorsement sure as hell works and a stunning stranger has shown me what I didn't know I really wanted.

An extra order of rojak, hor

2006-09-27T16:12:00.000Z

It was a commemorative dinner of sorts because we're due to leave London very soon. Clearly there was no better way to converge than over a hearty and flavourful local meal in Notting Hill. Ah, overseas Singaporeans in an overseas Singaporean restaurant - truly Singaporean indeed!

Kai Khiun and Kelly suggested Nonya, which does mouthwatering otak otak and laksa, albeit in aggravatingly meagre, un-hawker centre-like portions. The waitress (attractive in a healthy, bai bai pang pang kind of way) immediately struck me as being NON-local because of the obvious absence of essential twangs and lilts in her speech.

The topic of language and accents resurfaced a little later in the evening. According to KK, aside from the Caribbean states, Singapore is the most frequently cited case study in the Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages. Now why he even knows that is a separate discussion altogether, but I took particular interest in the 'island' connection because I have been asked a number of times -in different places, by different people- if my ... unusual ... accent is West Indian. Mm hmm.

Most recently yesterday afternoon, by a (fellow?) West Indian ... and before that, at an interview in Singapore, by a Singaporean lecturer. She asked where I 'got' my exotic accent (realising of course that nothing else about me seemed 'exotic', least of all my D7 grade for Chinese), which sounded to her somewhat Caribbean. Which is all well and good if one relishes the novelty of speaking like you're from a beautiful place that you've never set foot in, I guess.

Sigh. So no more tooting my trumpet about how local I am ... I'm merely embarrasingly earnest, not authentic.

Commemorating utter humiliation at the hands of ... papier mache

2006-09-25T23:56:00.000Z

One year ago this week, crafty fingers were up to some dodgy business. Don't think I don't know who the malevolently imaginative culprits are!!!

... and yes, That is exactly what you think it is.

Saying thank you

2006-09-20T23:47:00.000Z

Some people send flowers to show their appreciation. Others might drop an effusive Hallmark card in the mail. But not Ste. The energy I spent editing his thesis was duly rewarded with ... a hefty pat on the head. A truly loyal, literate pooch, I is.

Goddess of the Air06

2006-09-20T23:35:00.000Z

It's a bird ... it's a plane ... wah lau eh ... is that who I think it is?

That's right, boys and girls, when Michelle hits town with those monster basketball shoes (customised with a provocative red 'Teo' at the heel, no less), lesser basketball beings flee for their sorry little lives.

Now don't be messing with this woman's vertical leap, she can knee you in painful places.

2006-09-12T00:19:00.000Z

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A pleasant post-it

2006-09-11T00:00:00.000Z

Two individuals remembered the first anniversary of our Bern wedding today (Sunday): my delightfully thoughtful husband Stefan Same-Name, who is currently in Zurich all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at his new job, and dear Geraldine Ang. THANKS GERRY for the cheerful text from Aceh and your very kind thoughts (don't think I've gotten over the disdainful tone of your earlier sms re: my antiquated 'disco' vocab though ... grrr ...) and Ste, it's so good that you remembered because one of us should've!

I of course plainly forgot that today was the 10th of September. Well, why should I? Without the regular ebb and flow of work that would correspond to a 'normal week', I don't actually have to assign numbers to my days. So ... I don't. One less thing to remember, one less thing to mess up.

However, in a not-too-belated and still exceedingly elated celebration of the second of our three wedding anniversaries (the full list: 10th August, 10th September and 1st October), I would like to share some schmalzy photographs that were taken at the glorious Taj Mahal in August. We indulged in every tourist photo fancy ... and lapped up the guide's every suggestion for funky poses on the mausoleum grounds.

We're a good team.

The Dinner, Party and Wedding

2006-09-09T23:22:00.000Z

Ludhiana - Day of the Wedding

2006-09-09T22:41:00.000Z

We arrived at the bride's family home around midday on the day of the wedding. Meenakshi had been up since 7am to perform a charitable act, bringing food to a community of lepers.

The priest's sombre blessings and prayers were chanted amidst merry singing and peals of laughter from the women.

I was very pleased to have come in quite useful at one point (straying from my regular ornamental persona of disoriented tourist) and participated in the blessing over the bridal bangles.

The event closed with the full set of bangles slipped onto the bride's arms ... and then, sweets!

Baby M&Ms

2006-09-07T23:59:00.000Z

We interrupt this (slowly) unravelling account of Alicia and Ste's unforgettable trip to India with a quick newsflash on Marianna and Matthias' second trimester: Mom and Dad are well and Junior is a healthy 1.2kg, whoo hoo!

The happy couple's nappy changing expertise is exemplary, based on the evidence gathered on the sly at their wedding dinner. So they're off to a grand start!

We are counting down the months (not long now) ... and eagerly await the arrival of the new addition to the Ventouratou-Morys family in December.

Best wishes for a breezy final trimester M&M and please give us (Uncle Ste and Aunty Alicia) priority baby-cuddling rights when the time comes!

Making our way to Ludhiana

2006-09-04T00:27:00.000Z

The journey to Ludhiana from Delhi brought Munish, Greg, Ste and I through the breadbasket region of India. The Kwalis people carrier took off at close to 2am from our rendezvous point, Delhi Airport, which was replete with determined porters (one of whom I had a stern exchange with earlier that night).

Shortly after leaving the city limits, we suffered a punctured tyre which was quickly rectified by the driver Mr. Ritchie and his silent but smiling co pilot. They were pros and, as we wolfed down chappatis, black dhal and chai at the Sukhdev Dhaba truckstop, got the damaged tyre patched up and ready to be put on stand by.

We arrived at Ludhiana`s Gulmor Hotel at 10am, fell right into bed and got up in time for a little last minute clothes shopping. With barely an hour to go till the evening ceremony (invitation stated 7pm) Abhilasha and Munish were still hanging about with us tourists without a single frayed nerve.

I had been warned of the unsaid understanding that guests would appear at a casual hour, but still I stressed about being 'on time'. Throughout the trip I never quite got the hang of embracing the people-centred approach to time management rather than the task-focused one (concepts drummed into my head during cross-cultural courses). It was crystal clear to everyone else that nothing would commence without the key people (ie. bride, groom and their entourage). Good point.

And what a party it was!

The Road to Everlasting Kulfi

2006-09-03T23:33:00.000Z

I wish I had taken notes along the way, a travel log of the thoughts that flooded my head during our fortnight in India. But forward planning has never been my forte … and there was just so much going on.

With complete predictability -can you believe that some women's mags actually call this trait boring?!!- Ste completed the two books on Indian history which he bought in anticipation of our trip, A Concise History of India (an oxymoronic title which I scoffed at … until he matter-of-factly reminded me of my similarly titled one on China, purchased a year ago, in an impulsive attempt to bone up my deficient grasp of Chinese history) and A History of India.

In a feckless gesture of intellectual self assertion, I chose what purported to be a fresh look at Jawaharlal Nehru's biography. I wish I hadn`t waited till after we returned to London to pick up Nehru - The Invention of India, which gave me a Useful Perspective and a Framework for Understanding the country. That's quite vital in a world with so much out there.

To borrow and slightly alter a quote from Nehru (yes yes, VERY impudent of me indeed), "One must never visit India for the first time." According to Shashi Tharoor, the author of aforementioned book, Nehru said this of the United States during his maiden visit in 1949, but I think it applies rather well to the Indian experience too. And as I see it, one must visit India 'many more times'.

Ste and I are still recovering from the experience and the photos from our moribund camera don`t do sufficient justice to the profusion of life, flavour, texture and colour of the (admittedly, few) places we visited. The images fall short in capturing the hospitality and warmth of old friends and new, each an implicit reminder of the country`s wealth of diversity.

We spent our first days in Delhi. I was so happy to see Bhupinder again, three years after graduation. He was between postings in Dili and Phuket, and fortunately never lost the garang braveheart possessed by Delhi drivers for survival on roads swollen with vehicles in Brownian motion ... and the occasional placid urban cow. We had dinner overlooking the ruins in Haus Kaas, and he patiently padded along as I went on a retail binge at Dili Haat the next evening. Gauri was also back from her fieldwork in Rajasthan and together we sampled the trendy bars of Def Col and the surrounding area with the other Delhi-based uni-mates Gabriel, Mira, Payal, Ben and Andrew.

Midnight dessert (pista kulfi for me, no less) in Old Delhi was my personal favourite, where a loose colony of mobile ice cream carts lined up and illuminated the otherwise dark Rajpath. That road bears the weight of the annual Republic Day parade on January 26th, witnessed by thousands, including what must be a fascinating procession of sleek missiles mounted on lorries.

Can anyone tell that we're tourists?

Killing the Kill Bill

2006-09-03T23:22:00.000Z

While we were away, Jo-Anne was kicking some major butt on the NY theatre scene as The Jaded Assassin ... you go girl, haiyeee yah!

A brief respite

2006-08-01T14:27:00.000Z

Yes, finally - we are going for our honeymoon, nearly a year after our civil wedding (August 10th, 2005)! We are never quite ahead of the game, sigh.

Two glorious weeks in India and also the joy of attending Meenakshi and Anoop's wedding in Ludhiana, hurrah!

So no updates from me till we're back in London.

Sunday afternoon, jostled along by a throng of domestic tourists

2006-07-30T21:19:00.000Z