Deepavali

A large part of Singapore’s population is in the throes of celebrating Deepavali. This is a major annual Indian Hindu, Jain, Sikh and Buddhist festival/celebration. Known as the "Festival of Lights," it symbolises the victory of good over evil, light over dark, and lamps are lit as a sign of celebration and hope for mankind. We were honoured to be invited to share in the celebrations with lots of hubby’s colleagues at the invitation of some of their work contacts who hosted a large buffet dinner at the Banana Leaf Apollo restaurant in Little India.
This part of the city is busy on any Saturday night, but during Deepavali it is absolutely packed. The atmosphere is great – everybody is cheerful and excited, and as we arrived just before 7pm crowds were lining the streets to watch the annual parade go past.
Night comes suddenly in the topics: by 7.30 it’s completely dark, and the brief dusk brings little relief from the heat. Standing four or five deep along the street the crowd was a hot, noisy, constantly moving mass and we struggled to keep the kids high enough to watch what was happening. The banging of drums and gongs signalled the start of the brightly lit parade as musicians and performers slowly moved along the street beneath the brightly coloured lighting displays hung overhead.
After a short while we gave up and joined our friends in the restaurant, although I did get a few photos. Singapore is a safe place but the fear of losing one of the kids in the crowd always niggles in the back of our minds as they would be quickly lost amidst the forest of legs, and even Carl’s blond hair soon disappears in the dark.
Dinner was a tasty buffet of Indian food. I wish I could describe what we ate with any detail or give you the names of the dishes but unfortunately my knowledge of this type of food is very limited. There was a heavenly dish of creamed spinach with cubes of a type of curd, tandoori chicken, chilli-spiked fried cabbage, seared fish and plump prawns coated with a spicy red paste. All was washed down with large cups of fresh chilled lime juice, and topped of with platters of fresh tropical fruits.
Afterwards we walked slowly through the crowds enjoying the lights until we managed to flag down a taxi and headed home, with the boys exhausted, heads hanging, yet too wound up to fall straight asleep when they finally got to bed.

Boys, Boys, Boys

OK I know it’s been a while, but we’ve had a house full of visitors again and it’s just hard to find the time or inspiration to write anything interesting on a blog in times like that. It’s a poor excuse I know, but have pity…we’ve had our first kids coming to stay with us and we have had 4 – yes that’s FOUR – boys in the house for the past fortnight. In addition to my two little terrors, their cousins from Sweden have been staying with their Mum. Now fortunately these kids are older, 11 and 13 respectively, so quite independent. And Niels and Carl absolutely hero worship them. Followed them around, wanted to swim with them every day, completely ignored me when they got home from school, rushing in and demanding “where are Anders and Pieter?”
For hubby and me it’s also been a glimpse into our own future. Who knew that teenage boys could eat so much? Read non-stop for hours on end or indeed sleep in a virtual state of hibernation for more than 14 hours at a stretch? Growing up in a house full of girls I have no experience of boys apart from the crash course I’m currently enduring, but I can see that males are a very, very different species. At least they don’t giggle I won’t have to learn to braid anyone’s hair.

It was lovely to have them all stay and despite the reticent mono-syllabic grunts which seem to make up the vocabulary of teenage boys we think they had fun too.

What A Life

Carl (3 1/2 years old) got off the school bus at 12.30 this afternoon. With a world-weary look on his face, I asked him "how was it today at Jip and Janneke (preschool)? Did you have fun?"
Wiping his hand across his eyes he looked at me with an exaggerated look of tiredness and said in a hushed voice: "Wow, I'm tired. What a busy day".

If only I'd had his social life at his age.

Dance Festival 2

On Sunday night we went to our second Da:ns Festival event; ‘Waves of Love, The World of the Whirling Dervishes’ by the Istanbul Historical Turkish Music Ensemble. This was unlike anything I have ever seen or heard before. Because this is something I knew absolutely nothing about before booking the tickets, I’m going to quote the evenings program to explain what it was about.

“The ancient sacred ritual of the sema performance of the Mevlevi order of Sufism is regarded as one of the most beautiful and mesmerising expressions of spirituality and art. With origins in Turkey and inspired by the great 13th century mystic, poet and philosopher, Mevlana Celaleddin-i Rumi, the ritual seeks divinity and maturity, carrying his message of love, brotherhood and tolerance…[Performed] by the Istanbul Historical Turkish Music Ensemble as part of the world’s celebration of the 800th anniversary of Rumi’s birth, an event recognised by UNESCO.”

In silence a group of 20 men slowly stepped in single file onto the stage, each pausing to bow to a red sheepskin which was placed on the opposite side of the stage. The men – singers and musicians – each slowly made their way to a slightly raised podium at the rear of the stage where they sat and picked up their various Turkish instruments, most of which were unfamiliar to us. The singers stood like statues at the back. When all was still again, the process was repeated by the 8 dancers and their two ‘leaders’, who very slowly and rhythmically moved into the places on the stage and began a slow pacing, in step, in a circle around the stage, accompanied by the haunting unaccompanied voice of a lone singer.

“…the sema is a ritual conceived…as a form of prayerful meditation. Mevlana’s followers, the Mevleviye, adopted this ritual and are today commonly known to the English-speaking world as the Whirling Dervishes (semazens) for their practice of whirling as they meditate. Indeed, the whirling rituals of the Mevleviye have endured through time, and have become deeply entrenched in Turkish culture and heritage.
"Similar to the established order in nature, from the atoms in materials, cells in living bodies, our life cycles to the planetary systems, sema engages the semazens in a shared experience of revolving motion.
“The sema ceremony represents a spiritual journey that unifies the human mind, emotion, body and spirit…With feet firmly on the ground, left hand turned towards the earth and right hand outstretched to God in prayer, the semazen is the point of contact between God and the earth, the channel through which divine blessings flow. Revolving from right to left as he silently prays, the semazen embraces all creation.”

With the musicians and singers performing the dancers began their graceful whirling, turning on the spot with the right foot spinning their bodies as the left remained firmly in place. With heads leaning to one side the dancers remained perfectly poised and balanced despite having their eyes shut the entire time. Their hands rose slowly along their torsos until reaching above their heads, they slowly lowered the arms again to achieve a horizontal position, one hand cupped upwards, the other down.

It was a very unusual yet spell binding event to watch, one which on the one hand was completely outside our world of experience and so made us feel like complete strangers, yet which was so engaging and transfixing that you couldn’t help being drawn into it. The repetitive ceremony, the ‘salutes’ (bows) offered throughout, the flowing white clothes and haunting music all serve to transfix the audience. Above all the message conveyed through the ritual is one that embraces all people regardless of race or religion and touches a chord in any human soul.

“Come, come again, whoever you are, come!
Heathen, fire worshipper, or the idolatrous, come!
Come even if you have broken your penitence a hundred times,
Ours is the portal of hope, come as you are”

"These worlds by Mevlana Celaleddin-i Rumi, maybe said to encapsulate his original Sufi doctrine of unlimited tolerance, positive reasoning, goodness, charity and awareness through love.”

Dance Festival

Singapore is in the midst of its annual Dance Festival (actually they call it Da:ns but my spell checker hates that). During last years Festival we went to the ballet Carmen which was fantastic, so this year I thought it would be good to attend at least a couple of events.

The first event we attended was ‘Stars of Russian Ballet’, a ballet gala with Prima Ballerina of the Marinsky (Kirov) Ballet, Ulyana Lopatkina. Reviews of Ulyana have praised her “diamante brilliance” and “divine” portrayals. She is said to possess a “perfect ethereal figure” and has won many international awards. This gala was an interesting event, a mixture of classical and contemporary dance. In all eleven pieces were presented by Ulyana and her fellow dancers Anastasia Lomatchenkova, Evguenia Obraztsova and Yekaterina Osmolkina, plus the male lead dancers Ivan Kozlov, Anton Ploom, Vladimir Shkliarov and Alexandre Klimov.
It was a great night out, although as before the contemporary pieces left me cold. Although I like watching dance (having absolutely no natural talent in this area myself watching is as adventurous as I will get) I never buy tickets to modern dance performances, and the pieces showcased in the ballet gala reminded me why. The first modern piece was quite interesting, even sometimes a little humorous. However the final piece was sheer torture! Discordant violins which made it feel like your ears were bleeding screeched while on a blackened stage, two dancers dressed also head to toe in black danced in and out of pools of light with tortured moves and grim faces.
I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that it required an enormous degree of technical skill and months of practice to perfect but frankly, it’s just not me. In contrast the Pas de Deux from Romeo and Juliet was fabulous, and ‘The Dying Swan’ performed by Ulyana literally brought tears to your eyes, it was so beautifully and emotionally rendered.
Next on the agenda was the Whirling Dervishes from Istanbul – an entirely different experience! More on that later.

By the way, for this performance we were seated right at the top of the theatre hall in the Circle, at the very back row hard up against the back wall. As we walked to our seats I thought “oh no!” but actually the acoustics were fine and the view was uninterrupted. The Esplanade venue is not so large that you are too far away from the stage, even right at the back. I would not hesitate to sit there again so if you’re trying to get tickets to a show and these are the only seats available, don’t worry, you’ll still have an excellent view and enjoy the show.

Practising For Life On The Streets

This is a photo taken of our youngest, Carl, fast asleep on his bedroom floor last night. Now Carl has a perfectly comfy kiddies bed, the bright red Ikea variety with yellow and orange cats and dogs and a cute little horizontal bar to stop him falling out and tumbling all of 40 cm to the floor and thereby impeding his progress to becoming one of this centuries Great Thinkers. However, he prefers to camp out each night either in his doorway or in the middle of the floor, forgoeing the luxury of a mattress and sheets.

Last night he went to all the trouble of stripping off his pyjamas and then pulling his floor rug up on top of himself. We're thinking of getting rid of his bed and providing him with old newspapers and cardboard boxes instead. Next week I'm teaching him to drink whiskey from a brown paper bag.

At least he took his pillow with him. I told you, the kid has brains.

Freecycle

Hands up those of you who have heard of Freecycle. This is a green movment, purportedly begun in Arizona a few years ago, designed to help people recycle their property by giving it away instead of chucking it into landfills. I think it's a brilliant idea, and since I've just signed up to the Singapore version, I'll let you know how it pans out.

In itself the idea is really simple. A fairly basic web page allows you to post a brief description of your unwanted junk (hey, one persons trash is anothers' treasure, right?) and anyone who is intrested can contact you directly by email to claim it. The stuff has to be absolutely free - no transport charges, commissions, or fees at all. How you pick up the stuff is up to you to arrange once you've made contact with the offerer.

I have signed up after reading an article in a recent edition of The Straits Times, as no doubt thousands of other people will do too. After all, who hasn't had a moment of angst wondering what to do with those piles of unwanted clothes which are in fabulous condition but just don't fit or suit your taste any more? Or those CDs which you listened to ten times a day when you were a student but which have lain collecting dust for the past 10 years in a cupboard? And what about the PILES of stuff that accumulates when you have kids - clothes, toys, books - and which they quickly out grow? We (should) all feel a pang of guilt about just chucking stuff away in this consumerist, materialistic society. So I'm hoping Freecycle will prove a worthy antidote to this.

Apparently there are Freecycle groups all around the world, so check out this link: http://www.freecycle.org/ and see what your local one has to offer, or consider what you can offer your fellow citizens. I truly believe an uncluttered living environment goes a long way towards achieving an uncluttered mind, although there may be the temptation to fill up those newly cleaned out cupboards with treasures you find on the list...

Don't forget it's good for getting rid of stuff you don't want, and for asking for things you do want, all absolutely free.

I'll let you know how my request for a pet carry cage for Charlie goes.

Conscription

Soldiers seem to be everywhere in Singapore. Not the fully kitted up and armed variety, but national servicemen in their camouflage pants and shiny black boots. In Singapore National Service is the name given to the compulsory conscription which every male citizen and 2nd generation Permanent Resident has to undergo once they reach 18 years of age. The tour of duty lasts between two years, during which the conscripts will serve in the Singapore Armed Forces, Police Force, or Civil Defence Force (fire fighters, ambulance crew, etc). After their tour is completed the men are known as ‘Operationally Ready National Servicemen’, the equivalent of a reservist in other countries. Each and every one of them must report for refresher training for a week each until they reach the age of forty or fifty, depending on rank. When you consider that, it’s quite a commitment and a big chunk out of a mans life.
Before moving to Singapore I had never really thought about conscription much apart from it being something that used to happen decades ago. In New Zealand conscription was in place until about the 1950s I think: my Dad’s brother was conscripted although Dad wasn’t. Now that we’ve been here a while and seen the sheer numbers involved, it has been quite thought provoking. On the one hand some argue that removing these young men from the workforce at a time with very low unemployment when they could be making significantly more money in the commercial sector has a stifling effect on the economy. The governments view is somewhat more pragmatic: if you don’t understand the risks that Singapore faces from its very close and sometimes hostile neighbours, take a look at a map. This country is literally squeezed between Malaysia and Singapore, both hugely populous nations where unrest and strife frequently flairs up and terrorism is a real threat. There is no denying the inherent risks which Singapore faces simply by fact of its location.
Another very important reason that the authorities stick with conscription is that it promotes, in a degree that no other activity could, a sense of national unity. This is a very multi-cultural country made up largely of Chinese, Malay and Indian people. There are four national languages (English, Mandarin, Tamil, Bahasa Malay) and each culture has its own language and traditions. The idea is that these differences are broken down amid the camaraderie of serving together in an NS unit and learning to fight for and defend a common nation. As they say here, ‘Many Cultures: One Nation’. Indeed having spoken to a few locals about their NS experience their responses were very positive and they are proud of what they have achieved. At a time in their lives when New Zealand males would be out drinking too much beer, driving fast cars and generally helping to keep the road toll high, these guys are learning how to handle heavy arms and the intricacies of tactical warfare.
With two young boys ourselves we’ve visited many of the National Service and Armed Forces museums and events that have taken place over the last year or so, and believe me, there are a lot. Our kids just LOVE anything to do with soldiers, running around ‘bang banging’ anything that moves and gazing in wide eyed wonder at the tanks, jet fighters and personnel carriers on display a the recently opened National Army Museum. We can’t help but speculate what it must be like to wave your 18 year old son goodbye when he is conscripted, and know that for the next twenty years, he will be in the firing line if his country needs him.
There is a silver lining to the whole conscription issue here. The other day I was reading the Straits Times and came upon a story about a man who suffered a massive heart attack in his car while waiting at the traffic lights. He crashed without doing any damage but his heart had stopped and he wasn’t breathing when three passer-bys pulled him out from behind the wheel. His rescuers were all strangers to each other but, being men, each had done National Service and having been re-trained every year, each knew the latest CPR and resuscitation techniques. They were able to get his heart started and get him breathing again, working like a team until the ambulance personnel arrived to take over. The patient made a full recovery and was pictured shaking the hands of the strangers who had very literally dragged him back from death on the side of the road.
It’s very reassuring to know that every man above 20 here can do that and is able to help out his fellow citizens in a time of need.

Chinese Autumn Moon Festival

We are in the throes of the busy festival season here in Singapore. Depending on your nationality and religion you may have just finished celebrating the Chinese Autumn Moon Festival, or still be in the throes of Hari Raya.

For those not in the know, Hari Raya is one of the most significant Muslim celebrations, marking the culmination of Ramadan. The Arab quarter, known as Kamplon Glam, is decorated with lights and there are street stalls selling yummy treats in the evenings.
Last year we hadn’t been here very long and didn’t realise that taking part in the Chinese Moon Festival could mean more than just stuffing down delicious moon cakes filled with lotus seeds and red bean paste. The celebration always falls on the 15th day of the eights lunar month when the moon is believed to be at its fullest. Chinatown is lit up at night and there are large open air markets selling mooncakes, pomelos, tea and festive treats. To enjoy the fun we all headed down to the Chinese gardens to enjoy the huge lantern display in the evening.

Traditionally the kids carry paper lanterns illuminated with candles. Both Niels and Carl thought that was great until Carl saw someone else’s go up in flames and decided it was too dangerous for kids, and insisted I carry his lantern. Wise boy.

The theme this year was ‘under the sea’, and there were literally hundreds of lanterns – wire frames covered with colourful silk-like material and it up from within. Some even moved, with seals balancing spinning balls on their noses, prehistoric dinosaurs swinging their heads to the crowds and mystical figures waving to the throngs.

It was a fantastic display and I highly recommend it for any one who is visiting in September next year.

Following are a few pics to give you a taste of what happened.

The Chinese Garden is anyway one of our favourite destinations for a couple of hours out with the kids.

I’ve blogged about it before here: http://thesingaporesling.blogspot.com/2007/06/singapores-chinese-japanese-gardens.htmland can also add that there is a large adventure playground, suitable for kids 6 years and over, located nearby.

Just remember to take lots of water, sunblock and hats because it’s always hot and quite exposed to the sun there.

Cool Pool Toy

OK this may not be truly blog-worthy but I found a really cool pool toy the other day. Called a Crazy Coil, it's a long inflatable tube with a permanent curl. Good for hours of fun, and the kids love trying to sit on it and getting chucked off when it rolls over. The only downside is that it takes quite a bit of space to store so is cluttering up our back balcony most of the time, but still, loads of fun.

As we swim every day we are big fans of the multitude of inflatable toys on the market (and no, no sheep here) and this would be one of the more unusual ones we've had.

The Crazy Coil retails for about Sing$36. I picked this one up at Ocean Paradise in Tanglin Mall.

Marking The Corners

We are about to tackle Phase Two of Carl’s toilet training adventure – elimination of the night-time nappy. Originally we thought we’d do this a lot sooner but frankly, it’s been so blissful not having to deal with nappy issues since he became day-time toilet trained that we were a bit apprehensive about upsetting the equilibrium. However the time has come. In the evenings once he’s had his bath, brushed his teeth and is all soft and warm and snuggly and ready for bed I pop on his nappy then his pj’s (usually the ones with little monkeys eating bananas all over because he is, in fact, our little monkey).
However recently I’ve noticed that as he plonks himself down on his well-padded butt to rummage through the bookshelf for a book to read, he presses a hand to his groin to check that I really did put a nappy on, looks at me and asks “I’ve got a nappy, right?” then he gets this suspiciously blissful, distant look on his face. As his eyes almost cross with pleasure I realise that the little blighter is peeing. Now I know that his genes are stacked against him in trying to discourage this kind of behaviour. After all: he is a MALE.
Before those Y chromosome handicapped readers among you start protesting, consider this. Men love to pee on things. Like some feral instinct, this need to pee on the scenery as if marking their territory is deep seated inside most blokes. Don’t believe me? Try going camping with a guy. I guarantee the first thing he’ll do is whip out the Jolly Roger and christen the nearest tree with it. I’m not just slandering hubby here, I’ve seen countless guys do this. And you don’t see women peeing on in alleys or outside pubs, do you? (To be fair, Singaporean men don’t seem to do this but that may have more to do with the spotlessly clean state of the place and perhaps the potentially horrendous penalties involved if caught). So when Carl sighs with the sheer delight of being able to relieve his bladder without even having to walk a few steps to one of the five toilets in this apartment, I know getting rid of the night-time nappy is going to be an uphill struggle.
Then again, it’s not like we often get seven hours uninterrupted sleep, so maybe we can wait another couple of months.

Movie Reviews

The other day it occurred to me while browsing through some of my favourite blogs that the only movie reviews I can write with any authority at the moment would be for GA rated kids movies. The sum total of my movie going experience over the past year has been: Shrek 3; Mr Bean’s Holiday; Surf’s Up; and last weeks exciting offering of Underdog.
Never before have I lived in such close proximity to so many really good movie theatres, yet hubby and I have never been to one together. In fact I've never been in the evening, either. It’s such a shame because there have been some great movies passing through, plus there are lots of local offerings as well. Asians seem to just love horror flicks in particular and some of the posters alone are enough to give me nightmares.
If I never have to watch another movie with talking animals, that would be a good thing.

And if I ever have to sit through another full length Mr Bean movie, I’m taking a hand gun.

Moose Milk Anyone?

http://www.straitstimes.com/Video+News/Slice+of+Life/STIVodcast_2649.html?playid=2649&type=Slice%20of%20Life

Couldn't resist sharing this clip with you which I've lifted from the website of the local newspaper, The Straits Times on Monday 24. The woman in the clip is braver than me for getting this up close and personal with one of these things.
When hubby and I were travelling around Canada we were suitably awed by the size of moose, plus the stories of them killing dogs (which apparently they detest) and even unfortunate humans who got in the way of moose trying to leave in a hurry. So between the Grizzly bears, Black bears, and moose prowling around the campsites, I didn't get much sleep in our little tent most nights. Hubby of course snored the night away, oblivious to the world. Men.

Click on the link above to view the clip.

Look Out For The Bo-Geh Man

Here in Singapore they are facing the same problem as most developing countries: people are living longer and the falling birth rate means that there just won't be as much money to pay for all those oldies in a few years. The PM Lee Hsein Loong has announced a government plan to launch 'longevity insurance' to tackle this looming problem.
It's proven quite controversial. Basically the plan is that those aged below 50 will have to buy an annuity they they will only start collection 35 years later upon reaching 85 years of age. At a meeting of 550 'grassroots leaders' yesterday the PM was asked what the point of lengvity insurance and having so much money at age 85 was, when one might be bo-geh, or toothless in Hokkien, and able only to eat porridge and ice cream. Mr Lee replied "Bo-geh, you cannot enjoy. But bo-geh, bo-lui (no money) is worse."
Whether you agree with the concept or not, at least the government can form long term plans and is willing to risk taking a stand on something like this which will not generate any immediate benefits in terms of winning voters, when there is no election looming, and which they can't spin into some glossy image boosting tack.

Brownie Points

There exists in every relationship an invisible yet entirely tangible system of keeping track of who has more ‘brownie points’. A sort of good tempered keeping of the score if you will, a tongue-in-cheek weighing up of how either of you has performed or outdone the other recently. You know what I mean. He remembers my favourite Chanel moisturiser for my birthday: 5 brownie points. I find a shop that sells an obscure book he’s wanted for ages and surprise him with it: 10 brownie points. He gives me a shoulder rub after too many hours behind the computer: 8 brownie points, and so on. Well today I CASHED IN BIG!
This story starts way back in October 2006 when hubby finally, after more than a year of deliberating and pouring over geek magazines, bought himself a Nokia PDA. Basically a home pc the size of a chocolate bar, this thing is supposed to be able to everything but bake a cake. With great anticipation and quivering with excitement, hubby sat down behind the laptop to hook up his Nokia, install the software and synchronise the two machines. I wisely retreated out of reach adn hearing range.
Some time later hubby emerged, flushed and not very cheerful to say the least. He couldn’t get the software to install and the bloody thing wouldn’t talk to our computer. This was the start of nearly A YEAR of frustration with this gadget. Tense, terse and eventually downright snarly emails were exchanged between the Nokia Nerds and hubby but to no avail. In disgust he thrust it into my hands last month and said I could use it as a mobile phone since I didn’t like my current one anyway. Defeat most dreadful.

Well yesterday I started thinking about how disappointed hubby was and so took it upon my self to have a crack at figuring out what was going wrong. First port of call: the Nokia Nerd helpline and a long conversation involving several software doewnloads from their website punctuated with multiple laptop re-starts. Some of you may find these anonymous helpdesk calls daunting, but I have some experience in this field: when we purchased our first Dell pc years ago I once spent over two hours talking to the amiable “Sean-from-Dublin-how-you-doin-today” and then another two hours with “Jim, from Texas, ma’am” while completely reformatting the damn thing and re-installing the sound and video cards from the internet - in the days before cable. After that experience, I feel bullet proofed, baby.
This morning however, lacking the stamina and mental fortitude of either Sean or Jim, my Nokia Nerd gave up and suggested I head downtown to the Nokia Help Centre at Wheelock Place. Sadly I wasted an hour of my time there, with the final advice being to remove all software (again!) and reinstall the software from the cd whcih was delivered with the pda. As if this wasn’t the first thing we tried.
Home again, I decided to gave it one last shot….


…and it worked! I’ve got that sucker up and running and singing to my laptop like they’re the best of friends. Now if that doesn’t add up to a mountain of brownie points, I don’t know what does! That’s if hubby ever wants to have his PDA back again, of course.

That's What I Said

One of the things you have to accept when you move to another country is that you will at times – hopefully not too frequently – be labelled a DF. That’s Dumb Foreigner, not Dumb Fuck in case you were wondering. There is a difference – anyone can be a Dumb Fuck but to be a Dumb Foreigner you actually need to have arrived from somewhere else. Hey, we paid money to look this stupid.
Because I’ve moved twice – first to the Netherlands and now to Singapore – I have had plenty of opportunities to be laughed at, made fun of and generally treated like the sad little DF that I admit I occasionally am. Fortunately in Singapore most people speak a form of English known as Singlish which, while at times baffling to DFs like myself, is at least better than landing in the backwoods of Holland where gobbledygook is the predominant dialect and the chances of picking up the language without professional help are practically zero.
A case in point: For a while there was a tv ad running in Holland for McDonalds where a chubby American tourist walks in and orders the local speciality, the McCroquet. Now a croquet (croquette in English) is of course a long sausage shaped deep fried creation, a crumbed capsule containing the pulverised remains of various animal parts they couldn’t think of anything else to do with. It’s pronounced ‘crow-ket’ and cloggies love ‘em. Anyway the DF American walks in and says loudly ‘I’ll have a Mc-crocket!” The serving gimp says “you mean a Mc-crow-ket?” To which the American honks “that’s what I said, a Mc-crocket!”
From that moment on my friends and I all celebrated our personal McCroquet moments by crowing “That’s what I said!” It became the catchcall for all DFs struggling with the Dutch language and their bizarre pronunciation.
One time I was in a local bakery on a busy Saturday morning. I spotted the weekly special, a baked roll with sauerkraut (zuurkool) and a sausage inside. I'm always game to try anything new and bizarre so I asked for one in perfect DF Dutch. The conversation – in Dutch – proceeded as follows.

Me: "One zuurkool bun please"
Sales girl: “A what?”
Me: “A zuurkool bun”
“A what??”
“A zuurkool bun”
“A WHAT??”
By now all the customers in the shop are staring at me, it was so quiet you could hear my breathing, and I was flushed red from the tips of my ears right down to my toes. As sweat started to break out I pointed desperately at the row of buns and sqauwked “A zuurkool bun!”
“Oh, a zuurkool bun” she sneered, relishing in the chance to watch me squirm. And all this time the buns were right in front of us on the counter. Bitch.
I paid and scurried out as fast as I could. Now at first glance you may think this a harmless incident, just another hapless DF embarrassing themselves in public, but consider this. I told all my friends about it, and hopefully they told their friends…and in a small village how many DFs do you think now shop at that bakery? That’s what’s known as ‘viral marketing’ in action.
The moral is be nice to all of us struggling Dumb Foreigners, we’re human too even if our accents are a little kookie sometimes.

Monkey Business

I've mentioned the monkey population here in Singapore before, but we recently recevied this newspaper article (although it dates from February the situation hasn't changed). Most people think that monkeys are cute and cuddly but frankly, they've never appealed to me. Maybe it's those sharp little teeth, or the long snake-like tail, or perhaps it's their resemblence to humans that puts me off. Anyway they aren't my thing and having read this article, you might feel a bit more the same...
Click on the article for a larger (readable) version.

Haka II

OK so it’s a day late, but as promised here are some links to real hakas being performed. There are few things quite so spine tingling for a New Zealander than to see a haka, it taps into some primitive instinctive wellspring deep inside us, raising the heart beat and getting our blood pumping. Hubby would no doubt argue that this is the normal state of affairs for at least his kiwi – he is fond of quoting Captain Cook who upon writing home about the newly discovered New Zealand: “the locals are friendly but not to be trusted”.
Kids also love hakas and our two little testosterone charged rockets start boucing off the walls whenever they watch one of these You Tube videso. So enjoy! And be grateful that it’s not you that the haka is aimed at.

This is the All Blacks playing South Africa: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3o0pv6k37yE

And this is a traditional Maori dance group performing another haka: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8eGCsEQ15L4

The Daily Grind

I’m the first to admit that I love coffee. I mean really LOVE it. Lots of people are fond of the odd cup of brew of course but I really, truly love it.

Hot or cold, iced or steaming, black, latte, sweetened or topped with frothy milk…it’s all delicious as long as it follows the basic rule. Just like sex, coffee should be good, hot and plentiful. I’m not compromising for a quickie out of a dusty jar of Nescafe, if it’s not the real deal I’m not going to enjoy it and certainly not fake that I do. It gives the expression "going through the daily grind" a whole new meaning, doesn't it?
No doubt at least half of my stomach troubles stem from my chronic coffee habit but frankly, I’m willing to put up with a little gastritis if it means I can imbibe enough of the good stuff to make my world a sunnier place.
In the interests of improving my health I did once switch to decaffeinated coffee at work. It seemed like a good idea at the time because my consumption had skyrocketed. All journalists seem to drink a lot of coffee. Whether it’s to help us reach those deadlines faster or make our fingers so jittery that we can type more quickly, whatever the reason the only time I heard my colleagues swear was when the coffee machine was on the blink, necessitating a hike up the fire escape to use the machine upstairs. I spurned those ridiculous single-portion disposable plastic cups and brought my own heavy duty coffee mug, a sturdy beast with a picture of a kiwi in All Black kit and the words “tiny kiwi tuffy’ on the side. I could fit TWO regular cups of coffee in there, and would fill it up at least three times before lunch. Eventually I thought it might not be too healthy so decided to try de-caf.
After a couple of days I began to get worried. I seemed to be going to the loo every half hour. Did I have a bladder infection? What was wrong with me?? Suddenly it clicked. Desperately craving its caffeine fix, my body was making me drink cup after cup of decaf in a fruitless search for that elusive high. I suddenly realised I was drinking the equivalent of NINE CUPS of coffee each morning! De-caf or not, that can’t be good for you. It was time to face up to it: my name is Joanne and I’m a coffee addict. I didn’t go through a seven step program but I did admit defeat and change back to regular coffee, limiting my consumption to two mugs in the morning.
Something I don’t get is the trend for people to have those fancy espresso machines in their homes. Of course the coffee tastes great, I’m sure you’re friends are as impressed as hell when you can turn out a double espresso amidst clouds of steam like a professional barista, but people…it takes forever! Who can wait ten minutes for a single shot of coffee?? Not me, when I need coffee I need it now. Our filter paper is still dripping when I swallow my first mouthful in the morning.

My sister recently bought a beautiful machine which she loves with a passion usually reserved for discreetly hidden toys and iPods. Ironically her hubby doesn’t drink coffee and her kids are too young so you've got to wonder at the strength of her addiction to feel compelled to shell out several hundred dollars on a sleek black and chrome contraption. However I had to text her to let her know when I was on my way so should could start making the coffee when I jumped in the car. By the time I pulled up in the driveway the first cup was nearly ready – and I’d finished it before she’d even started hers. Round two, anyone?

Haka

It's rugby season again! All over the globe keen fans are glued to their tv watching to see who will reign triumphant in this years Rugby World Cup. Of course I am cheering on New Zealand, but as we say back home: "I support two teams: New Zealand and anybody playing against Australia".
Most of you are familiar with the spine-tingling haka war dance which the mighty All Blacks (that's New Zealands national team) do before each match. This is a tradition which dates back to 1884 when the first New Zeland rugby team toured overseas. Appropriately enough, they went to Aussie. Frankly if I was faced with a line up of these huge, muscle bound rugby players screaming a war dance and rolling their eyes at me I would be pretty intimidated, and that is of course the point. However for those who are really interested the haka is not always a war dance, it can be performed by men and women and even children. Hakas can be a war dance but also a welcome, to mark special ccasions or achievements (they are sometimes done in honour of someone) or even just for entertainment. However considering the finger drawn across the throat and gruesome facial grimaces of the last All Black haka, the meaning of this version is pretty clear. Just for a laugh, following is a funny, light-hearted animated version. For those interested in seeing a real haka I highly recommend You Tube, or check back here tomorrow when I will upload a video file from there of an All Black haka.

Taking Comics Too Seriously

There are some things which the Asian youth cultures take very seriously and one of these is anime. For those of you who are not up to speed on the whole anime scene it’s a form of animated film derived from ‘manga’, which are the source books, comics, or animated novels. It’s usually sourced from Japan and is hugely popular.
The follow little news item from Reuters highlights a little reported protest action which was carried out here in Singapore. In itself the story isn’t very interesting, but the way in which the local authorities reacted to it speaks volumes. See for yourself.

Singapore anime figurine protesters meet real police

Reuters - Friday, September 7
SINGAPORE, Sept 7 - A protest action by a group of Singaporeans with Japanese anime figurines such as the 5-inch tall Ultramen, robots and monsters with placards met some real-life police in the city-state.
A handful of fans of Japanese anime had turned up at a Singapore public park on August 25 with armfuls of the toys to protest against a clampdown on Internet downloading of anime material by Singapore animation distributor Odex.
The incident was not reported in the local press, but pictures and accounts have started circulating on many blogs and political Web sites. .
"The police didn't stop us from what we wanted to do. But their being there was enough to intimidate," the event's organiser -- who only wanted to be known by his online moniker Zer0 -- told Reuters by telephone.
He added that police -- who had four anti-riot vans at the scene -- also took down the anime fans' particulars and that they were filmed by plainclothes policemen. A police spokeswoman said she could not immediately comment.
Public protests are rare in Singapore, where outdoor demonstrations are banned and any public gathering of more than four people requires a permit.


...Sorry was that FOUR anti-riot vans for a bunch of comic nerds clutching action figures????

P.S. Thanks to Zero, one of the key figures in this story, who posted his comment below.

Famous Bunny

Ok so it' smore bunny news, but remember I had four legged kids before two legged ones.

Following is a link to a short film clip which Liesbethhas posted on You Tube showing Rocco blissed-out getting groomed. This is one bunny who LOVES a good scrunching and plucking to get rid of the masses of excess hair he sheds at moulting time. If you looks at the surface he is standing on you'll also see the piles of sand coming out of his fur, a by-product of his favourite activity: shifting a hole from one end of his pen to the other. He is usually assisted by his partner in crime and all things else, Ashely when he does this. She however can dig like a demon and still comes up glossy and clean at the end of the day.

Here's also a picture of the terrible two at their bunny villa in Eindhoven, otherwise known as Opvang Franky (http://www.opvangfranky.nl/). Enjoy!

http://nl.youtube.com/watch?v=Kni9WPrPmEY

Pulau Ubin

Just to the north of Singapore is Pulau Ubin, a small island which once best known for its commercial granite quarries. The name literally means Granite Island, although today the quarries have filled with water and the island is now a nature reserve. At one stage several thousand people lived here, hewing the stone out of the ground to help build Singapore’s impressive skyline or working on one of the rubber, mango, or coconut plantations or prawn farms. Today about 100 locals live in primitive conditions on the island, serving a flourishing tourist industry of about 300,000 visitors – mostly locals - per year.
Getting to Pulau Ubin is half the fun of the visit. First you need to go to Changi Village (the town lends its name to the nearby Changi International Airport), on the north of the mainland. Then you jump in a ‘bumboat’, a small vessel originally designed for coastal fishing now used to ferry 12 visitors per trip to the island. There are no queues and no tickets. Once 12 people have gathered at the departure jetty a wizened captain in flip flops and tatty shorts will wave you over to his boat and departure with a roar of the engine and a cloud of diesel fumes. His cheerful wife will then collect the money, the entire transaction being conducted with nods and smiles and without a word of English. About 12 minutes later you arrive at Pulau Ubin. The captain swings his boat around to approach the jetty backwards and at a great rate of knots, with everybody clinging on for dear life and expecting half of the jetty to end up in splinters on the beach. At the very last second he cuts power, and the boat bumps ever so gently up against the buffer. Journey over.
While there are a few vehicles on the island for use by the locals, and in particular by the police and rangers, there is basically one mode of transport on Pulau Ubin: bicycle. For as little as $2 per day you can rent bikes, many of dubious quality, to trundle around the island and work up a sweat in the 30°+ heat. This weekend we had my mother in law Mieke and her partner Jan Willem with us who, in good Dutch style, are excellent cyclists and were keen to try their hand at a tropical ‘fiets tocht’. The point of cycling on Pulau Ubin is not so much to go anywhere, but just to enjoy the novelty of doing it. We always see plenty of wild life, particularly very large monitor lizards, impressively scary monster sized bugs and a range of birds. The island is known for being home to the only colony of Pied Crested Hornbills, and this weekend we were lucky enough to see three of these rather strange yet quite beautiful birds up close, feasting in a banana tree. To see a good photo of a hornbill check out this link to an earlier posting: http://thesingaporesling.blogspot.com/2007/06/its-for-birds.html

A half hours gentle cycling followed by a walk on the beach looking at Malaysia’s coastline just a couple of hundred metres away was followed by a more sweaty uphill ride back to the only village. On the way we stopped to drink from fresh coconuts and let the kids run around. Back in town the only real diversion is lunch at one of the excellent live seafood restaurants, where the food is so fresh it’s practically still moving on your plate and yet only cost $34 for the six of us.
For anyone who plans to spend more than a couple of days in Singapore this is a lovely way to see what it must have been like living here 50 years ago, although without the mosquitoes and swarms of bugs which are now controlled, thankfully. While the locals seem perfectly adapted to life with generators for electricity and water pumped from their own wells, I have to admit it was lovely to get back to the air conditioning. How we take the little things for granted, and how spoilt we have become!

It's A Girl!

This weekend we welcomed the newest addition to our family…a bunny called Charlie.
Her history is a story repeated thousands of times in every country: bought from a pet shop as a treasured family pet but then dumped when the novelty wore off or the owners became sick of caring for her.
Because we will probably be leaving Singapore next year I decided to foster a bunny (or a pair) from the local chapter of the House Rabbit Society. This excellent organisation takes in and re-homes unwanted and abandoned rabbits and is in serious need of more foster homes to take care of the many animals in their care. This means that if they find a home for Charlie she will leave us, and we will take care of another one or pair.
Once she is strong and healthy again we’ll get her a mate to keep her company. In the mean time she is the star of the family and settling in well.
As she is probably half angora she is quite fluffy and will need regular grooming, something her former owner didn’t do and as a result she has dense mats of fur – practically dreadlocks – on her tummy and over her tail. There were even a couple on her head! However daily grooming will soon tidy her up and love and attention will put some weight on her skinny bones. She may look big, but under that fur you can feel almost every vertebrae in her back and her hip bones poke out painfully.
This morning I was home alone so let Charlie out for her first exploratory hop around the lounge. After ten minutes of vigorous sniffing she flopped down beside her pen with a contented look on her face, so I guess we’ve been given the official sniff of approval!

Aches and Pains

My knees ache. Why is that? Some would see it as a sign of getting old(er) but isn’t it a bit odd for that to kick in spontaneously (“here, you’re 37 years and one month old, time for your first Non Specified Ache!”). Some people claim that their joints ache when it’s going to rain, but for goodness sake, it rains a lot here. I mean full on torrential build-an-ark kind of monsoon downpours. If my knees are aching in response to impending rain then I may as well go and by my first Zimmer frame now.
No doubt my lovely doctor, the ever-cheerful Dr Tan, would have a rational explanation. One of the truly wonderful things about living in Singapore is the exceptional health service. Since I’ve moved here I’ve had my long term gastric problem resolved (with the aid of copious amounts of tests, x-rays and pills), my eyesight corrected (with the help of two types of lasers), and been brought back to health in record time from a variety of maladies (with the assistance of mountains of drugs).

No doubt there are less drug-fuelled cures available to those with the patience and mental fortitude to wait around long enough, but when it comes to illness I’ll take the drugs thanks. You may consider this shocking but you have to understand that I have lived for ten years in Holland, a country when pain relief is denied to women in child birth, it’s considered weak to go to your GP if you haven’t been sick for at least three days, and even if you do go the doctor he/she is most likely to treat almost any illness with the advice to “rest and take an Asprin”. I’m not kidding, I had zero pain relief for the births of my two boys, EVEN FOR THE STITCHES! For those men out there who may think that pain during childbirth is a natural part of the reproductive purpose, I only have this to say: try shitting out a pumpkin, being stitched up with a ten inch needle and piano wire then being offered an ice cube to sit on as your only pain relief, and you’ll have some idea of what I think of that attitude.

At one stage I did worry that I seemed to be visiting Dr Tan every week. For some reason my immune system got a bit run down after three months here and I kept picking up painful laryngitis infections. I was worried that Dr Tan might think me a bit of a hypochondriac, and had visions of him saying “To lose your voice once may be seen as unfortunate Mrs Holger, but to lose it twice is just downright careless”.
However I’m now back in the pink of health as they say, immune system fully charged, eyesight sharp and voice box well oiled. Now if only I could sort out my aching knees…

Comments

One of the interesting things about having a blog which is open for the world to read it that occasionally you get feedback from somebody who has read it. When I started this blog I assumed that only family and friends would occassionally dip into it for a quick spritz of Singaporean news. Kind of like Singapore Light: you can enjoy the food and culture without spending the money or imbibing the calories.

However I have been pleasantly (so far) surprised to get some feed back from the occasional reader. Anyone can leave a comment by clicking on the button below each post, and you can read comments that other people have left there as well. The comments are moderated, which means that I get to read them first before choosing whether or not to publish them, but to date I haven't rejected any. So don't be shy, if you've something to say, let m2 know! The only down side for me is that your comments arrive anonymously which means I don't get your email address so can't reply to you in person.

Last week I got a particularly interesting comment from a local Singporean. Thank you Tse Yin for your comments and also for explaining rather better than I the concept of predeterminism. I quote:

"The law of karma isn't as autocratically deterministic as the notion of fate often implies; it may be better described as a realist philosophy that all things have causes and consequences. The oft-heard attribution of an event to 'good/bad karma' is in some ways a pat statement, almost one of resignation, similar to 'what goes round comes round'. The law of karma doesn't imply that everyone's life is a tapestry already designed just spinning out over time (to allude to the Ancient Greek image of Fate), rather it is a very grounded way of thinking about life, one that encourages people to consider all their actions and be prepared to face their consequences. How these consequences play out is of course a multi-factorial open ending and may be influenced by any number of other actions, people and circumstances..."

To read all of Tse Yins' comment see the post titled "A Message For The Masses" dated October 2006, or click on this link http://thesingaporesling.blogspot.com/2006/10/message-for-masses.html then read the comment below the blog entry.





Some come on, let's hear from you!

Ten Years On...

This year is a special one for hubby and I as it’s out tenth wedding anniversary. It’s hard to believe that a decade has passed since we rode with hearts pounding in a carriage pulled by two jet black Friesian horses to Vorden Castle and exchanged vows on an unusually warm spring morning. The wild fennel was in abundant bloom along the country roads and the oak and beech woods all around us were an explosion of fresh green leaves and birdsong. Anything seemed possible on a day filled with such promise and ten years on, we certainly haven’t been disappointed.
Like any married couple this first decade will probably prove to be the busiest, or at least the one filled with the most ‘firsts’. We bought our first house, had our first (and second!) child, got our first house rabbit, moved abroad to live…the list goes on.
Marrying someone from a different culture and in another country is always a challenge, even if you do speak a common language. Holger and I met at a particularly difficult time for his family: his father was diagnosed with terminal cancer just after our first date in November 1995 and passed away within two months. I spent New Years Eve 1996 in the local hospital with appendicitis; not exactly the quiet night in we had planned! The weather was atrocious and I vividly remember gazing out the window as snow ploughs, two abreast, slowly lumbered past followed by trucks spreading salt to try and melt the black ice which had formed on the roads. People were warned to stay indoors and not drive due to the treacherous slippery conditions but Holger braved the snow storm and icy roads to be at my bedside, bringing ‘oiliebollen’ and orange juice to toast the New Year together. We had only been going out for about a month but as I saw him walking up the corridor (he had lied to the nursing staff and told them he was my fiancé in order to come outside normal visiting hours) I knew that this was Something Big.
Seven months later we were engaged and on May 30 1997 we were married on that perfect spring day.
So how to celebrate ten years together? Our plans have shifted constantly as our living situation has changed, and so far we are more or less having a whole year of celebration! In May a mystery package arrived for me; a beautiful silver plate commissioned by Holger from our friend Ton Postma in Holland, silver and goldsmith extraordinaire (see top photo). For Holger I hunted down a gorgeous length of hand woven Cambodian silk suspended on a long, ornately carved wooden hanger crafted in Malaysia (behind Carl in the photo left).

This weekend we decided to continue the celebrations by having dinner at Raffles Hotel, something we have both wistfully considered for years! I have to say that we were not disappointed. If I were to write my own book of 1000 things to do before you die, this restaurant would be near the top. Oozing with opulence and steeped in history, it’s not just a meal but an event. Consistently voted one of the best hotels in the world, the food at the Raffles Grill is sublime, the service superb, and the surroundings stunning. I chose lobster followed by venison while Holger had tuna followed by cod. We indulged in gorgeous desserts, pistachio soufflé and rum parfait respectively. Each course was punctuated by an ‘amuse’ from the chef, delicious bite sized morsels to clear the palate and lead to even greater temptation! The wine list was impressive if a bit overwhelming; an 80 page book resembling a family bible more than a list of drinks!
To top off our anniversary celebrations we are also planning to do something together with the kids to but more about that later when the plans are finalised.
Celebrating this anniversary is proving to be so much fun that I’m already looking forward to our 20th!

Happy Birthday Singapore

Last week Singapore celebrated its 42nd year of Independence with the usual displays of military power, social consciousness and mass heart-grabbing. National Day is a Big Thing here; it’s seized upon by the government as an occasion to raise the sense of national identity and gel together the many different races and cultures that call this island home. To the outsider it can seem a bit bewildering, and if you’re a Kiwi like me the displays of military might are a bit startling and more that a little unsettling, to say the least. I know that this is a very small country squeezed between the less stable nations of Indonesia and Malaysia, but to see the sheer scale of the defence force here is quite unnerving. Included are some photos which I’ve shamelessly lifted from the website of The Straits Times.
This year the motto was “Singapore, a city of possibilities” and flags proclaiming this have adorned the entire island. The locals see National Day as a chance to demonstrate that they are “many cultures but one nation” and over a million National Day meals were served up at special get-togethers around the country. Countless local community events were organised too. However the culmination is the huge National Day Parade and show held on August 9.
This was the first year that the National Day celebrations were held in a new location, namely Marina Bay which is the piece of water near the entrance of the Singapore River, in the heart of downtown. (The former venue, the National Stadium, is being pulled down, a fate which befalls almost any construction over 20 years old here). A massive floating stage was constructed in the Bay and the organisers cleverly used the water, the stage and a nearby bridge to put on what was by all accounts a pretty breath-taking show. The first half is always taken up with the various branches of the military demonstrating their skills and equipment, while the rest is rather like the opening ceremony at the Olympics: lots of people doing coordinated dances, spectacular costumes, hundreds of school children singing, etc etc.

This year I decided to get into the spirit of things – kids love this sort of stuff – and try to get a look at what was going on. The tickets to the show are sold months in advance by ballot and squeezing in amongst the hundreds of thousands of people who crowd around the venue just didn’t appeal to us. However I was able to score tickets to a dinner cruise organised by ANZA (Australian and New Zealand Association) on a fantastic ornate Chinese junk. We cruised around the southern tip of Singapore and arrived just outside Marina Bay with plenty of time to watch the spectacular fireworks which were detonated both from the stage and from the roofs of the three tallest buildings in the city. It was a great night, and the kids were so excited that it made me feel a bit better about the rather ridiculous price.
We couldn’t hear the music or sing along with the local favourite songs, but after an evening spent focused on a little corner of this tiny South Asian paradise, we feel a bit more like Singaporeans too.

Mothers Day

Yes my friends, school has finally started again. I really feel that this is the true Mothers Day – forget the breakfast in bed and promises to be good some time in May, the first day back after the long, long school holidays is when Mummy wants to crack open the champagne and truly celebrate. Yes kids Mummy loves you now get out the door and don't come back for hours!

Fortunately both the kids were happy to be gong back as well, Carl to the Jip & Janneke pre-school and Niels to Group 3. This year there are 16 kids in his class although more may arrive throughout the year.
There are now 260 kids at the Hollandse School, and the pre-school has an additional 60 enrolled with a significant waiting list as well. The economy is booming here and ex-pats are pouring in. Long may the boom – and Holgers project – last!

New Zealand Update 1

After five fun, busy sometimes chilly weeks, we are all back in Singapore. Our holiday in New Zealand went really well, with us lots of time spent with the family. Most of my family has ended up living within a 90 minute drive of each other in the North Island which makes it easy to get to everybody. Our first port of call was Mum’s place in Hamilton as she had arranged the shuttle to pick us up from the airport. Then in the weekend we shot off to New Plymouth, the town where I was born and where we still have family.

Many of you will have seen quite a lot of the surrounding Taranaki area, including its beautiful mountain Mt Egmont, without even realising it. Remember that movie Tom Cruise made called The Last Samurai? Well the whole thing was filmed here, with Mt Egmont standing in for Mt Fuji. Almost perfectly conical, it’s a beautiful mountain which stands sentinel over the flat and fertile Taranaki plains which extend out like a patchwork until they tumble into the sea. My uncle is the Harbour Master which is one of the reasons we grew up spending lots of time here. I have many fond memories of fishing for sprats off the wharves, walking along the breakwater dodging the spray from the big rollers which come crashing in after their journey across the Pacific Ocean, and watching little blue Fairy penguins waddle across the stones under the wharf to their nests.

Our next port of call was Tauranga, on the East coast in the region known as the Bay of Plenty. Tauranga and its neighbouring town of Mt Maunganui are coastal towns with great beaches. Despite the winter weather we made the most of it by heading off to the beach with my sister Karen and her kids Aimee and Tazmin. As you can see in the photos it was an incredibly windy day, with waves crashing onto the beach and sand being whipped up and skimmed along the beach by strong gusts. Just a few days previously the country had been hit by its worst storm in 150 years, although this area was not hit too badly so no damage was done. The kids loved racing around in the wind – there is something about windy days that hypes kids up – and almost being blown over.

Tazmin, who must be one of the most photogenic kids I’ve ever seen, had a great time pretending to be a kite with her arms stretched out into the wind and while taking the photo I kept an eye on the soles of her shoes to make sure she didn’t actually lift off!
After that it was back to their house for hot Watties tomato soup and cheese toasties – surely the staple diet of any true Kiwi!

Another day during our stay in Tauranga they had a snow dump. Sixty tonnes of chipped ice from a local fish processing factory – thankfully sans fish – was dumped in the centre of town for people to romp and frolic in. Now I realise that this may seem a little pathetic to all you Cloggies our there who can usually count on at least one snowfall per year, but in Tauranga they don’t even get so much as a frost. My Dad’s house doesn’t even have heating, for goodness sake! So this is as close to the real thing as they get. As you can see it was a lot of fun, and after getting thoroughly chilled and having my boots filled with ice chips we headed off again.

More updates will follow, for now it’s time to hit the pool again as we acclimatise back to life in the tropics. Suddenly ice dumps and windswept beaches seem a long way away.

On Holiday In New Zealand

Well here we are, in New Zealand at last. It's been a bit of an adjustment getting used to winter temperatures again. At night there has been the occasional frost with temperatures dropping to around 7 C, while during the day we are mostly expereincing about 18 C or sometimes higher.

We had the bad luck to arrive just before the worst storm the country has had for 150 years hit, but because we are in the centre of the North Island we didn't notice too mcuh of it apart from the fierce winds and torrential rain. In the North and further south towards Taranaki there was heavy flooding, roofs blown off houses, land slides etc. And of the coast of New Plymouth (the city where I was born) they were hit by a 'cluster' of seven tornados! Massive damage to about 60 homes, although again we experienced none of this. On the bright side in theory it won't happen again for another 150 years - every cloud has a silver lining they say.

Apologies for any typos as my fingers don't work well when cold! Today the weather is gorgeous, so I rushed out and took some photos. The first is of me brushing my teeth this morning. In future when people ask me if I miss living in New Zealand I'm going to show them this photo and ask "do you know anywhere else in the world where brushing your teeth while enjoying a view like this is seen as commonplace?"

We are staying in a house on the farm of my sister Christine and her husband Lance. They have a spare house on the property so that's where we have holed up, snug and warm with our wood fire. Their house is a short walk away so it's ideal. At night the Milky Way stretching overhead is just breath taking in the pure clean air, endless galaxies spiralling off into the creamy infinity of space. I'd almost forgotten how many stars there are when all around is darkness - no street lights or large buildings for miles, just the sound of owls screeching in the forest nearby and the gentle munch munch munch of cows chewing their cuds in the paddock next to the house. We woke to find large cloven hoofprints in the front lawn - a curious cow had managed to open the garden gate and wandered around the lawn, no doubt unimpressed by the closely clipped grass which Christine had mown before we arrived.

Niels has been out with his Auntie, riding in a trailer behind their quad bike to collect the calves born overnight and bring them into the warm calf sheds. He's loving it, getting fabulously filthy and christening his new gumboots (that's Wellingtons or laarzen to you non-kiwis out there) by stomping in fresh cow pats.

A new update will arrive next time I have the time at an interent cafe. This is coming to you from the Hobbit Hole, a little place in Matamata (my home town) famous for being the location of the Hobbit villiage in the Lord Of The Rings triology. Many of the locals starred in the movie as extras and the town proudly displays an alternative nameboard as you enter: 'Welcome to Hobbitville'. Don't ya love it?