Happy Birthday Carl

Today our youngest son Carl turned 3. It’s hard to believe that 36 months have passed since he was born on a sunny but freezing day at our home in Holland, our little blond tornado with the impish smile, endless giggles, and naughty streak a mile wide. At the moment his favourite sayings are “you’re my friend”, “chaaaaaaaarrrrrrge!” and “I like your boobies”.

He’s given up having daytime naps when he really needs them, preferring to fall asleep on days when he isn’t even all that tired and therefore guaranteed to keep us up for half the night. Typically he prefers to pass out on his floorboards in an expanding pool of drool that I get to step in and then clean up afterwards, rather than on his lovely soft airplane rug – or even bed.
Carl considers himself to be equal in size, speed, and noise making capacity to his older brother Niels, and figured out long ago exactly which pieces of Lego he needs to snatch away from under his brothers’ nose to drive him absolutely crazy.
His is very much a Mummy’s boy at the moment (probably because I’m the one with the coveted boobies) so after I’ve read his story, gone through his photo album of the extended family and then tucked him in for the night I’m usually called back into his room at least twice to give him another cuddle and kiss goodnight. As I kneel awkwardly on the floor boards, ignoring the stabs of pain from the pieces of lego, small plastic knights and Hot Wheels cars poking into my legs, I bend over him in the dark under his ceiling filled with luminescent stars, moons and planets. We can just see each other in the orange glow of the night-light, and he scrunches himself onto his right side, dummy firmly stuck in his mouth, and hooks his left arm up over my neck as I snuggle into that lovely baby-soft skin on his neck. We both sigh, first me; “aaaaahhhh”, and then him; “aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”, then I kiss his neck and make as if to leave. At this point his arm tightens around my neck and he pulls me close so our cheeks are touching. I can feel his long eyelashes on my cheek as his body relaxes and he edges towards sleep. At that moment I swear I forget every sleepless night, every ear splitting yell, every toy hurled at my head in frustration or amusement, every pool of pee on the floor as we try to progress through toilet training. In that small warm moment the universe exists of nothing but the instinctive closeness of mother and child symbolised in our warm breaths on each others face. Finally Carl releases me and I give him a last kiss before leaving and he imparts his final comment, something like “I’m your friend Mummy”, or “It was good fun in the pool today Mummy”. Or sometimes even just “I like your boobies”.

I’ve included some photos of Carls' big day at pre-school (top), his dinosaur birthday cake and also his birthday party here at the condo (left, showing Carl with his best friend Noor, who he calls "My Noor").

One Of The Best Things In Life

Have you EVER seen anything as delicious as this? Admit it, you're as green as grass looking at that photo. If you aren’t, it means you have no idea just how spectacularly good New Zealand crayfish really tastes. Swimming in the clean blue waters of the Pacific, these shy rock dwellers may live sixty years before reaching this magnificent size…so perfect for the cooking pot!
So how did I land these two enormous, cooked, ready to be devoured specimens here in our steamy little paradise? It’s all thanks to my Dad, crayfish catcher extraordinaire. A bit of explanation is in order. My Dad has dived since he was in his early teens, which adds up to a few decades by now. In that time he has not only perfected his technique, but also identified lots of out of-the-way spots that no one else knows about where he can count on finding a few good size crayfish to bring home for the pot.

As kids, my sisters and I grew up on a regular diet of fresh crayfish, fish, scallops, occasionally paua (black gold!) and other seafood and believe me, we crave it like oxygen.

Dad’s first experiment with exporting fresh food from NZ happened three years ago, when he brought a whole grass-fed New Zealand fillet steak (that’s about 3 kilos of prime juicy melt-in-your-mouth beef to the uninitiated), vacuum packed and on-ice, to Holland. It turned out that nobody is bothered about stuff being brought out of NZ – being a little group of islands at the end of the world and hence disease-free turns out to have some advantages after all. So when he came to Singapore in November, he upped the ante by bringing two frozen crayfish and some huge lumps of beef in a chilly bin. When it came to customs, he went to the red ‘something to declare’ lane…only to find that there was no one there! Sure, there’s the skull-and-crossbones signs and warnings that the punishment for smuggling illegal substances is compulsory death penalty, but was he phased? Not at all! After all, what on earth would anyone smuggle OUT of New Zealand??

Giddy with success, the seeds were sown for further adventures. So when my sister Christine arrived last week, she was fully armed with not one, but two enormous crayfish (or bugs, as we affectionately call them in the McIntyre clan). Hubby, Chris and I duly sat down to eat one for dinner, the other being safely stored in the freezer until we’re ready to face another mountain of cray again. Weighing in at 2.126 kilos, we three adults physically couldn’t eat the entire thing for dinner (and belive me, we tried), sowe enjoyed it for lunch the next day as well. Now that was one HUGE crayfish!
So this blog is a big thank you to my Dad, who not only went out to sea, donned a wetsuit and scuba gear in rather chilly weather and dived to the oceans depths to find these crayfish, but also took them home, boiled them in fresh seawater, froze them, carefully brought them to my sisters house in a polyestyrene foam box, and made sure they were personally freighted to my doorstep. A taste of my native paradise land in this adopted tropical oasis we now call home.

Frankly, life just doesn’t get any better than this.

Talking turkey – or is it just fowl language?

One of the nice things about your spouse coming from a different culture is the funny little quirks they – and you – reveal when using the other’s language. When I met hubby he was already very fluent in English, having sailed on ships with a multitude of cultures where English was the common lingo. The Dutch are very keen on languages anyway, with all kids having to learn Dutch, English, German and French at school.
Still, everyday chatter requires a different level of fluency than a working environment. I’ll never forget the look on the face of my friend Marie (an American settling in Holland) when Holger told her that in Holland it was “important to get penetrated” as soon as possible. He meant to penetrate the system by registering to vote etc.
Then there was the time I was complaining about being too short to reach things in the top kitchen shelves. He assured me that he too could only reach things by “standing on the edges of the fingers on his feet”. He meant the tips of his toes!
I’m not immune to making faux pas myself of course, sometimes resulting in toe-curlingly embarrassing situations. There was the time when Holger and I were dating, and his mother was going to visit him in port when his ship docked Rotterdam. Because I couldn’t go I gave her a letter for him, addressed (I thought) “To my little hedgehog”, a private joke we had in reference to Holgers’ prickly whiskers. In fact what I wrote on the envelope, much to their amusement, was “To my little prick”. When I found out some weeks later I was so embarrassed I couldn’t look his mother in the eye for days, although she never referred to the incident and I’ve never had the courage to bring it up.
Alas, as we have both grown more fluent in each other’s language over the years the occurrence of funny mistakes has diminished. Until this week, when Holger produced a real gem. We were talking about how convenient is to have a regular babysitter on call. Fe, who cleans for us one day a week, also often babysits when we need someone. Speculating on how difficult it will be to adjust to life without her when we one day return home, he said: “It’s going to be cool chicken for you when we get back!”
What he meant of course was ‘cold turkey’, but on reflection I think I like his version better!

Melting Pot

I’ve talked before about how Singapore is a melting pot of different cultures and religions, and today I learned a bit more about the Muslem population living here by talking a walk through the Arab quarter, known as Kampong Glam*. It’s one of the oldest parts of Singapore city and home to many Muslims of various ethnicities, mosques and historical sites.
One of the most interesting was the Sultan Mosque, Singapore’s largest. Topped with a large golden dome, the mosque is open to visitors everyday except Friday, which is the Muslim holy day. As long as your knees and shoulders are covered – a long cotton over-jacket is provided for those women who haven’t dressed appropriately – you are welcome to walk around and take a look inside this majestic structure. Typically of most things here, it is very inclusive and Muslims from lots of different nationalities come to pray here. Originally built in 1852 it was re-built in 1928 in its present form and can accommodate 5000 people. Apparently when a mosque is being built the local Muslims are obliged to contribute. At the time, the poorest people in the area could not afford to donate money so they collected glass tomato sauce (ketchup) bottles and by lying them on their sides constructed – would you believe it – the dark ring upon which the golden dome sits. If you look closely (probably not visible in the photo) you can see the round bottoms of the glass bottles. An ingenious idea which in the true Singaporean spirit made sure that everybody could be part of the project.
As an interesting aside, before the Imams are allowed to give their ‘sermon’ each Friday it must first be read and approved by the Singaporean government to ensure that they approve with what is being preached. A very pragmatic solution to some of the shit-stirring which has been happening in other parts of the world, don’t you think?
We also passed the Kampong Glam Cemetery, which is actually a piece of Malaysian territory smack in the middle of the city. While it is no longer possible to be buried here it is bristling with the traditional Muslim grave markers, which I had never seen before. According to our guides the dead are wrapped in white cloth – 3 layers for men, 5 for women – and lowered into the ground on their right side (without a coffin) and facing Mecca. It was a remarkably peaceful spot amongst the buses and cars of busy Arab Street.

*Kampong Glam is Malay, meaning village (Kampong) and tree (Glam is a tree related to the Australian Eucalyptus from which the leaves can be ground to obtain a medicinal oil)

Bookclub

One of the things I miss most here in Singapore is my bookclub. Way backing 2001 a few friends and I started up a bookclub which meets ten times a year. Six years on, four of the original founding members are still going strong.
Usually there are about 6 or 7 of us, and we take turns to pick the book, and to host the meetings. Over some wine and yummy snacks everything and anything is fair game for discussion, including – eventually – the book of the month. I think it’s safe to say that it’s a highlight of all of our social calendars. Last December, during our brief visit back to Holland, I was really chuffed when the club organised a meeting over dinner so we could all get together again. What great fun catching up with everyone!
We were also lucky enough to see more of Fran’s original writing, this time in the form of a poem written in honour of the bookclub which she included in her beautiful hand-made Christmas cards.

Book Club Friends by Fran Oosterbaan – Clarke

It occurred to me the other night,
As I lay in my bed,
That all my friends, and folk I know,
Are like the books I’ve read.

You never know what is inside,
By the cover or the title,
Though first impressions mean a lot,
It’s the contents that are vital.

Some give warmth and comfort,
Like a cozy fireside glow,
Some invigorate, and inspire,
And you’re happy just to know.

Some are hard to understand,
And take a lot of trouble,
But every story is unique,
The rewards are often double.

Some are fun, and full of laughs,
Or passion, love and mystery,
But best, a blend of everything,
With just a dash of history.

And so my Christmas wish for you,
“May your shelves be overflowing,
And may your cherished library,
Continue to keep growing.”

Milestones

On Sunday Niels lost his first baby tooth. After days of being wiggly and having him poke it with his tongue and fingers, umpteen assurances of yes I will be careful brushing your teeth, no I’m not going to poke it, and yes another one will grow back in it’s place, the tiny little nipper came out early yesterday morning. He marched into our bedroom at about 6 am and announced dramatically “My tooth fell out!”
Once again hopes of a sleep-in were dashed, but on the bright side at least he didn’t swallow the tooth.
Niels had been a bit apprehensive about losing the tooth, and to be fair, it is the first piece of his anatomy that he has witnessed falling off. God knows we all have to get used to it as we get older, but the first time is a bit of a shock. He’s never been one to let go of his personal property easily. He HATED having his hair cut until he was about four years old. At the local hairdresser they still remember the day I eventually gave up and carried him, rigid and screaming, out of the salon with half of his hair trimmed. We were both red and drenched with sweat by then and I couldn’t take the glares of passers-by any longer who were obviously thinking “what is that woman doing that poor child in there?” I called it quits, bought hand clippers and did it myself from then on. He’s grown out of that phase thank goodness and now loves going to our hairdresser in Singapore – a Kiwi girl from Auckland who works from home. And no wonder – with three kids her house is full of toys and she plies the kids with lollies and ice blocks.
Toilet training also took ages with Niels, perhaps another sign that he doesn’t like to part with what he sees as his personal property. So I was very careful to explain to him why baby teeth fall out, how new ones grow in their place, etc. Then there is the tooth fairy! In exchange for your precious tooth she will leave some money which you can spend how you like, isn’t that great!
Carefully digesting this news, Niels thought about the implications for a while, then looked at me with a mercenary glint in his eye and asked “Is there a hair fairy too?”

A Bad Case Of Wind

Most of you will have either heard about the storm which swept across much of Western Europe in the last few days – or have lived through it. We may have thought we were safe from the 150 km/hour winds all the way down here at the equator but that proved not to be the case. Fortunately the damage to our property back in Holland was fairly minimal compared to some, and especially compared to the 30 odd people who were killed in various countries.
A house in our neighbourhood had its whole roof blown off. We lost one roofing tile which landed in the gutter, and the three remaining Cyprus trees on our property took a real hammering. One blew completely over and had to be removed. The other two, which were pushed over. have been straightened up and should survive their ordeal.
Actually these trees have an interesting story behind them. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, almost everybody seems to know our house because of the Cyprus trees outside. The original owner, who built the house back in 1995 or so, had a very particular taste and because he just LOVES this type of tree, paid what seemed (to us anyway) an exorbitant sum to have six fully mature Cyprus trees shipped up from Italy and planted around the house. They were duly planted with a great deal of fuss and care, and then promptly proceeded to die. Unwilling (or unable) to take the hint, he then paid to have the same thing done all over again! This time, the transplants were successful, and operation Cyprus Relocation (a.k.a. putting the wrong trees in a stupid place) was complete.
When we (I’m using the royal ‘we’ here as actually Holger handled everything) were negotiating a price for the house he made several mentions of the trees and how much they were worth (to him anyway). We suggested he could take his tree with him if he dropped the price, but somehow that didn’t wash.
We duly bought the house and lived with the trees. Until I was pregnant with Carl, and we realised that the Cyprus which was planted in the driveway, preventing us from opening one of the rear doors of the car, was a royal pain in the arse and we chopped it down. In time, we got sick of the two huge trees in our fairly small garden, and wanting to put in a sandpit and playhouse for the kids, we contacted the former owner and told him we planned to get rid of the trees. Within a week heavy machinery (a huge flat bed truck, massive crane, plus small bobcat digger) turned up with a crew of 4 or 5 professionals including a tree doctor, and the two trees were removed, the garden fence carefully moved first out of the way then put back, the holes filled in with top soil, and we were all happy. We had to give the guy credit, when he does a job, he does it properly. Now alas alack, another Cyprus has fallen victim to nature’s whimsy. And then there were two….

Uninvited passenger

Today I want to share with you a very strange little story which appeared in The Straits Times, the highly respected national paper. They have a regular section where they print small items sent in by readers, accompanied by a photo they send over their mobile phone. Left is the photo that appeared with the story, which I have nicked off the columns site (http://www.stomp.com.sg)

“Uninvited python-ger?
Look what the rains brought in – not just flash floods, as Mr Toh Kok Send discovered, but a 2m long python.
The 42 year-old lawyer was shocked when he got an afternoon call from the building management team at Capital Tower last Thursday, telling him the snake was coiled beneath his car.
Although no one actually saw the snake emerge from the car, the management was sure it came from within.
“They joked that the python could not have taken the lift up to the seventh story,” said Mr Toh.
Over the past few days, he had heard strange noises from inside the car, and even stopped once to check underneath, but found nothing.
“Now I wonder if I’ve been ferrying an additional passenger these few days,” he said.
The snake was handed over to a pest control company. It is quite common to find snakes in car engines, particularly during the rainy weather said Mr Felix Tan, director of pest control company Alliance Pest Management."

Ummmm….hang on. Did they say this kind of thing is common?? I can guarantee you that if I ever hear a strange noise coming from under my car, I won’t be the one sticking my head under there to see what’s going on!

Getting To Grips With The Lingo

Last weekend, my Dad's partner Maureen was looking after Carl while I got my left eye lasered and Dad took Niels to his swimming lesson.
The best way to keep our kids entertained is to chuck them in the swimming pool for an hour or so, which she did until Carl got sick of that and wanted to go back upstairs. Because Dad had left with the only house key they had to wait for his return before getting back inside, so they sat chatting beside the pool.
Peering underneath the brick barbeque, Carl pointed and yelled “A snake!”
One can only imagine what effect this had on Maureen who had up until that point probably been quite relaxed in the warm sunshine, but suffice to say she was no doubt hugely relieved to point out that no, it wasn’t a snake, it was “a piece steel” which was part of the barbeque frame.
“Oh” replied Carl, his standard answer to any new piece of information while it’s being assimilated into his memory chip. Shortly afterwards he got bored with sitting by the pool so they moved to a seat on the low wall by the fountain out front, where Carl could wave enthusiastically to Mark (the security guard) and watch people coming and going. In due time a workman walked past with a large crowbar over one shoulder.
“That’s a big crowbar” said Maureen, “I wonder what he’s going to jimmy with that?”
To which Carl replied scornfully “That’s not a crow bar, that’s steel…just like the snake”.

Acclimatising. Or not.

Christmas probably seems like a long time ago to everybody now, and it does feel as if the past two weeks or so have flown by. We spent the festive season in Holland, back in our own house, sleeping in our own beds. Aaaaahhh, if only it were possible to shrink our beds and fit them into our suitcases to bring them back here. A couple of days ago I asked Niels if he was happy to be back in Singapore again. His answer was positive, so pushing my luck, I asked him if he missed anything from Holland. There was a thoughtful pause, and then he said with all the blunt honesty only a five year old can muster “I miss my bed”. So there you have it, it’s a longing that settles in well back in our formative years before we can blame age, bad backs, and aching muscles.
Of course when we were home there were plenty of things that the kids found they missed, especially their two sets of grandparents; Oma and Opa, and Jeanette and Derek. Yet they slotted back into life there as if we’d never been away, enjoying play dates with their little friends and scooting around town on the backs of our bikes like the little Cloggies they are.
The only thing they (and I) struggled with was the cold. Thank goodness Holland is having an unusually warm winter so far, so temperatures were only down to about 2 degrees and we didn’t see any real frost. But it was so bone-chillingly COLD! Niels slept with a hot water bottle in his bed and Carl had an electric blanket in his. We all wore singlets and socks to bed and huddled under the duvets as if we were part of Scotts expedition. All except hubby of course, who scornfully called us ‘watjes’ (wimps) and insisted that it wasn’t that cold after all.

Secretly I was quite pleased that the kids Kiwi genes were finally coming to the fore – let’s face it, living in such a cold damp climate is plain unnatural! My great-great-great grandparents didn’t run away from Scotland for the sunny climes of New Zealand for nothing after all.

I managed to spend half a day visiting the bunnies, Rocco and Ashley at their long-term holiday residence at Liesbeth's house in the slightly warmer (ie more Southern) city of Eindhoven. Rabbits love the cold, provided they have enough shelter and preferably a buddy to snuggle up to to keep themselves warm, and Rocco and Ashley are no exceptions. Their fur has become so dense that when you burrow your fingers into it your can feel the tips heating up. Ashley, who has always been - well kind of rotund would be a nice way to say it - is now almost completley spherical and feels like a wombat with her dense winter coat and a layer of lard to ward off the chills. Rocoo's moustache is as magnificent as ever and no doubt serves a double purpose of keeping his toe-tips warm as he snoozes the winter days away.

One down - one to go

Well here I am back behind the laptop, with one eye lasered. The procedure went very well and with the exceptional level of before and after treatment care I feel really pleased to be able to have had the procedure done by Jerry Tan. My eye is not painful at all, but the vision is still slightly blurry and will probably remain so for a few days until the cornea flap which is made so the laser can reshape the cornea, heals. I have to wear a plastic shield over my left eye while sleeping for a week to make sure I don't rub my eye during my sleep and put in eye drops, but that's a minor inconvenience. Despite the blurriness, I can already read the small text in the newsbar on the bottom of the BBC World News tv channel with my left eye, while I can hardly even see the bar with my right eye! So that'a already a big improvement, I can't wait to find out what the final result will be.
Tomorrow at 8.30 am I'm back at the clinic for a check up.
Dad and Maureen just jumped in a taxi to head off to the airport, so it's a quiet evening over here. It will be strange not to have any visitors in the house for a while. The next one is Christime (my sister) who will be celebrating her 40th over here next month. Party time!!!

'Twas the night before...

OK, this is a big day. Firstly I should say a big sorry to those of you whom I should have contacted before now to say that yes, we are back in Singapore, yes we had a nice Christmas and yes we are all well. BUT, there have been bigger fish to fry. Issues to mull. Eyeballs to laser. Whatever.
The point is, this is the last time that I will be writing this blog while wearing glasses. Yes…tomorrow I get my first round of optical laser surgery!!!! Yaaaaaaayyyy!!!!!
For those of you who may not realise it, I have wanted to get my eyes lasered for years and years and years, but the cost has always been a big hurdle. However my Dad very generously offered to pay for me to get it done as a Christmas present, so I hurriedly phoned around in the week we had before heading off to Holland in December and found the best clinic here.
Last Monday I spent 5 hours at the Jerry Tan Eye Clinic (http://www.jerrytan.com) being assessed and tomorrow morning, at 9 pm, my left eye will be surgically corrected from short-sightedness using Wave Front Guided Customised Lasik surgery, hopefully forever. In a couple of weeks I’ll get the right eye done. (In case you are wondering I will wear one contact lens in the meantime). There are good reasons for doing your eyes one at a time, the main one being the surgeon can carefully monitor how the first eye heals, and depending on the result after a few weeks when healing is complete, can fine-tune surgery for the other eye accordingly. This gives the best possible chance of achieving 20/20 vision or better, as everybody heals differently and it may be best to over or under correct the second eye to achieve the ideal result.
In the mean time I am just about bursting with anticipation. Dad and Maureen are leaving here late tomorrow night so we have just managed to squeeze all of this in while they are here to look after the kids for the day. And pay of course.
So I’’ll keep you updated. From tomorrow we will be visitor free for a significant period for the first time since October, so I’ll also have more time to focus on my blog which has been sorely neglected, at a time when there has just been so much to say. Never fear, I’m prepared to wax lyrical for as long as anybody out there is prepared to read it.
Well I’ll blog again soon, next time will be as someone with much better vision – at least in one eye.

Ohmigod...it's a SNAKE!

Yes it finally happened. While out exploring park with the kids, Dad and Maureen we came across our very first snake. Now I have known for some time that there are snakes living in Singapore but was quite happy never to have actually met any face-to-face. There we were, walking past a brick wall in Labrador Park, when Niels casually said “hey, there’s a snake”. There with its head nestled in a drainage pipe its tail hanging out was a very beautiful black and white patterned snake. It had a yellow pattern on its head and was about 1 metre long, but quite thin - about as thick as a man’s thumb I guess. Obviously possessing a great sense of occasion it obligingly uncurled itself and gracefully slid vertically up the wall, giving us plenty of time to admire it and take photos. So behold, our first serpent encounter.
This will be my last entry for a while as we are flying to Holland tonight for Christmas. We’ll be back in the New Year, no doubt hanging out for sunshine and well stuffed with yummy Dutch Xmas goodies.
Have a great festive season everyone, I’ll be in touch in 2007!

All together now...aaaaaaaaaw aren't they gorgeous!

Today the God-sent surrogate mother for my rabbits, Liesbeth, sent me some new pictures of Rocco and Ashley chilling out in their luxury villa in Eindhoven. Famous for its football team (PSV Eindhoven), being the base of the global Philips electronics concern, its university specialised industrial design and of course the rabbit rescue centre Konijnenopvang Franky (www.opvangfranky.nl), Eindhoven is located in the south of Holland about 90 minutes drive from our home in Lochem. Liesbeth and I have been friends with a shared interest in all things lapine (that’s bunnies to you), Monty Python, beer, and silly jokes. You may have read some of her comments on this blog, which of course she reads out loud to Ashley and Rocco whenever a new entry is posted to keep them up to date with what their crazy humans are up to.
It’s just as well that Liesbeth has a great sense of humour because I imagine that otherwise there would be days when her work rescuing, caring for and finding homes for dumped and unwanted rabbits – and sometimes other small animals - would really drive her crazy. When people think of animal shelters they think of cats and dogs. What many don’t realise is that all types of animals are the regular victims of our frivolous throw-away society where it is deemed acceptable for anyone to breed and sell (or give away) pets, and for owners to refuse to take responsibility for providing a good quality of life for them. Every year countless rabbits are bought, often for kids, then “released into the wild to be free” when the kids can no longer be bothered caring for them or the parents are sick of the hassle. Freedom means almost certain death for any animal as thoroughly domesticated and in-bred as domestic rabbits are, whether it be through thirst, starvation, disease, being hunted by cats and dogs or run over by cars.
Take a close look at my ‘fluffy kids’ (Mum calls them her Grandbunnies, isn’t that gorgeous?). Rocco is the large brown and white male, a total snuggle-bun with a magnificent set of whiskers, who loves to have his ears scratched and learned to follow Carl around like a shadow vacuuming up the dropped cookies and raisins that little kids tend to shed. Rocco was ‘given up’ by his owners because they complained that he dug up their garden. DUH! A rabbit that digs, what a surprise!
Ashley is the sleek blue-grey lady giving her man a kiss. She was simply chucked into the street with her siblings, dumped by an owner or breeder who didn’t even have the humanity to hand them into a shelter. She was terrified of people when we first got her (can you blame her) but has learned to trust a few of us and is as contented as any bun could possibly be in their safe loving home and with a buddy to snuggle up to. Can you imagine anyone dumping these rabbits in the street?
Next time you are thinking of getting a pet, please check out the rescue centres near you. They’re listed in the phone book, can be found on the internet, or otherwise ask at your local vet clinic if they know of anyone who rescues animals nearby. They all deserve a good home and it’s our responsibility to make sure they get it.

P.S. Thanks Marijke for taking the lovely pics of my long eared kids!

Hey Mr Tally Man, Tally Me Banana…

Yes I’m talking about food again. I know that it seems to be a recurring theme, but hey – I like to eat. And to cook, so it’s always interesting to try out local foods and try and figure what’s in them. A recent adventure revealed few clues as to the contents of most of the dishes we were eating, but the abundance of chilli peppers and spices were not shy in revealing themselves. Holger took a colleague and his wife, plus Mum and I out to dinner at Samys, an Indian restaurant which he had visited for his work a while ago. The restaurant is located in an old colonial building left behind by the British. It’s a large white plastered place, with a covered veranda on all sides to keep the rooms cool during the day. Round tables had been crammed into the large interior dining room and lined the veranda outside. Having been buffeted by the heat and noise when we walked in, I made sure the waiter seated us outside where we would at least have a chance to hear each other talk and hopefully catch a breeze to cool off our chilli-induced sweat.
Like many Indian restaurants, the meal started with awaiter slapping down a large square piece of banana leaf on the table in front of us. This was our plate. As soon as he stepped back a swarm of green and white uniformed waiters swooped down on us, each with a steaming pot of some mysterious concoction. After barking “lamb!, prawn!, fish! calamari! potato!” they would barely wait for a nod of agreement before placing their offerings, side by side, on our leaves. In no time at all we had a colourful collection of dishes in front of us, accompanied by pickled cabbage, cucumber salad, poppadom and garlic naan bread. Let the feast begin!
This may be a good time to explain that I am not into spicy food. I used to make a mean Mexican chilli at university but I’ve gotten out of the habit, and curries were never my thing. However we were all keen to give it a go and Holger’s taste buds have apparently been galvanised by the local food he eats at work every day. There’s no doubt that he certainly sweats with the, how can I say this nicely, aromatic pungence of someone who enjoys a nice garlicky chilli Monday to Friday every week. We all tucked in and it was tasty. Mum was able to get through most of hers, and our guests did too (he was a vegetarian so I enviously watched him scoff a plate of deepfried cauliflower as I downed buckets of water to cool off my fiery tongue). I did my best and as far as Indian food goes, I’d have to say it was better than any I’d had.
We managed to take Mum out to quite a few restaurants during her trip, each featuring a different style of food. One thing you can certainly say about eating out here – it’s never boring!

Sinterklaas steams into Singapore

Today was a Very Big Day for the kids - Sinterklaas arrived in Singapore this morning, in his steamboat. The entire Dutch community turned out to welcome him at Pasir Panjang ferry terminal and it was an hour of frantic excitement, screams of delight, cries from the over-sugared over-heated littlies and sweaty fumbling by parents to snap pictures while stopping junior picking up pepernoten cookies from the ground and stuffing them in his mouth. Above you can see the boat arriving and Niels shaking Sint's hand, a very proud moment for him. Notice the kids sweaty faces and Holger's dripping wet shirt! Left is a great shot catching the mounting tension - who is more excited, Carl or his father??
Here’s a very brief description for those of you who are not Cloggies. Sinterklaas (Saint Nicolas, patron saint of children, the underworld and thieves – what a great combination) arrives in Holland on his steam boat from Spain every year around this time accompanied by hordes of Black Peters (Zwarte Piet), his slightly naughty, brightly dressed, black-painted little helpers. He stays until his birthday on December 6, and on the night of December 5 he delivers presents just like Father Christmas. It’s basically the Dutch version of Christmas and is especially focused on children, with lots of nice songs and yummy food and a build up even bigger than for Christmas. So today was his big moment to arrive in Singapore, a huge relief to Niels who was slightly concerned that he wouldn’t be able to navigate so far without a pilot and a 747 jumbo jet, and to the bewilderment of Carl who is still a bit young to understand what all the fuss is about.
You couldn't get a bigger contrast with Holland - my main memories of this event are of freezing winds, often accompanied by wet snow and/or hail and rain. After an hour of standing on frozen cobbles in frigid weather we stagger home with the kids strapped onto the bicycles and try for the rest of the day to thaw out our frozen feet while hoping the kids haven’t got hypothermia.
But today…it was over thirty degrees and quite humid, a blue-skied day with the tropical sun beating down on the little boat as Sint and his Peters puttered up to the pier. We were all undercover on the jetty, but poor old Sint must have been roasting alive in his suit, especially with that big white beard. There were plenty of Peters there to keep him company, hand out pepernoten and sweets and sing along with the kids. The entire Hollandse School including teachers were in attendance. The Dutch Ambassador was also there, following Sint in a jacket and orange tie would you believe, while the rest of us were in shorts and t-shirts and sunglasses! As soon as he could he stripped off his jacket and he was literally dripping with sweat and looked like he was about to pass out.
The kids had a great time and are so excited that Sint is on the Island. Tonight they’ve each put a shoe by the door so that the Peters can put sweets or toys in it, a tradition we will repeat a few times before December 5.
So we may be far away, but some things certainly don't change. One minor detail is that the Dutch community will celebrate over the weekend of December 2/3 instead of December 5, because obviously Sint needs a few days to get over to Holland in his boat!

When It Rains, It Pours

This morning I was chased out of the swimming pool by deep rumbles of thunder, with a dark bank of ominous cloud swelling on the horizon. It seems that the rainy season has started, right on schedule. Every day we wake up to nice sunny weather, but by about 11am it’s clouding over, and by 1 pm we’ve had the first rumble of thunder heralding the torrent that’s coming our way. When the rainstorm finally arrives it’s usually accompanied by a huge CRACK of lightening and incredibly loud thunder, enough to shake the fillings out of your teeth. Mum is over here visiting us at the moment and the force of the storms makes her quite nervous. That and all the stories of people being struck by lightening.
My friendly Kiwi hairdresser, who has lived here for six years, knows countless tales of death-by-lightening-bolt in Singapore. One of the most dramatic was five tourists who were enjoying a round at the exclusive Singapore golf course. The rules clearly state that you are not allowed to wear metal cleats on your shoes, yet they ignored not only that rule, but also the one about immediately leaving the course when the rain alarm sounds. As the first drops fell they chose instead to take shelter under a handy tree, no doubt clutching their metal golf clubs, standing there in their metal-cleated shoes…well you can guess the rest. None was directly hit but the charge travelled through each and they were killed where they stood. My friend has also witnessed the swimming pool at her condo being struck by lightening, just moments after her kids and everyone else had climbed out. She said that although the weather was fine to begin with, dark clouds started to roll over so she told the kids to leave the pool. Suddenly, while she was drying the kids off and without a drop of rain having fallen, a huge bolt of lightening struck the pool right in front of them. All of the hair on her youngest boy’s head stood straight on end, the pool completely lit up and she said they could all feel the charge as there was an ear-splitting crack-boom. Unbelievable that no-one was killed, considering they were all dripping wet and standing so close. Needless to say she is very, very paranoid about her kids swimming if there is a cloud in the sky and it’s certainly changed the way I think about it too.
Storms start up so quickly here, one minute it’s hot and humid, the next there is a gust of cooler wind, the palms start to bend and flutter then WHOOSH, down comes the rain and the thunder and lightening starts. The monsoon drains fill up, the world darkens for quarter of on hour, then often, as quickly as it started the rain stops, although the cloud cover lingers until evening. The good news is that it has cleared away the haze caused by the forest fires in Indonesia, so I guess every cloud really does have a silver lining.

Cocktails at Dawn

Today is a Big Day. Today, our first real visitor is arriving: my Mum. She will land at Changi Airport at around 8.15pm, where Niels and I will be waiting to whisk her away to our apartment where her room is ready and waiting for her.
The kids are positively fizzing with excitement, and this morning at 3.30 am Niels appeared at my bedside wanting to know if it was time to go the airport yet! Half an hour later he did the same thing, this time banging my door so loudly as he stumbled his way back to bed that he woke up Carl, who took up residence in my bed (Holger is away for a week on a training course in Holland). Carl then proceeded to keep us both awake until daybreak, at which point I gave up all attempts of trying to get back to sleep and started breakfast. At least they were ready for school with plenty of time to spare!
This is not Mum’s first trip to Singapore. Way back in 1995 when I first headed off to Europe for my Big OE (Overseas Experience for those non-Kiwis out there), Mum came with me as far as Singapore and we enjoyed an eight day holiday here before I continued on to London and she returned to New Zealand. We did pretty much all the tourist things in that time, including of course going to the famous Raffles Hotel and enjoying an iconic Singapore Sling in their beautiful garden bar. In fact it was so good, that despite the $30 price tag we had a second one. As I had spent months scrimping together enough cash for my ticket etc Mum paid, and now at last I will have the wonderful opportunity to return the favour.
Holger and I stopped in at Raffles and enjoyed a Sling back in June, and yes they taste just as good as ever! While most people have heard of this drink, I guess that few of you have actually tried it. It will be my personal mission to ensure that everybody who visits us gets to down at least one of these delicious, satisfyingly large pink cocktails during their stay. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it, and I'm more than willing to make that sacrifice!
Below is the original recipe from Raffles, and the official background as published by that fabulously over-the-top establishment (you can check out this beautiful historic buliding at their official website: http://www.raffleshotel.com).

"The Singapore Sling was created at Raffles Hotel at the turn-of-the-century by Hainanese-Chinese bartender, Mr. Ngiam Tong Boon. In the Hotel's museum, visitors may view the safe in which Mr. Ngiam locked away his precious recipe books, as well as the Sling recipe hastily jotted on a bar-chit in 1936 by a visitor to the Hotel who asked the waiter for it. Originally, the Singapore Sling was meant as a woman's drink, hence the attractive pink colour. Today, it is very definately a drink enjoyed by all, without which any visit to Raffles Hotel is incomplete."

Singapore Sling
30ml Gin
15 ml Cherry Brandy
120 ml Pineapple Juice
15 ml Lime Juice
7.5 ml Cointreau
7.5 ml Dom Benedictine
10 ml Grenadine
A Dash of Angostura Bitters
Garnish with a slice of Pineapple and Cherry... and enjoy! mmmmmmmmmmm

They Are For The Kids...Honestly!

Back in June, when Holger and I visited Singapore for a week to find an apartment, visit the Hollandse School, and generally prepare for The Big Move, I picked up a copy of a magazine called something like “Fun for Kids In Singapore”. I figured (rightly as it turned out) that without our friends and family around it was going to be important to try and organise myself and the kids into events and meeting places to try to create a new social network. That is still a work in progress, but while flicking through the mag I did see an advertisement for gorgeous floor rugs for children’s rooms from a company called Tinderboxx, which is basically a woman called Elsebeth from Denmark who designs unique rugs and accessories for children’s’ rooms, based right here in Singapore. I fell in love with her work immediately and this week, finally, we have become the proud owners of two of her rugs: a vibrant swash-buckling pirate ship for Niels, and a swooshingly-cool plane for Carl. Check out the photos to get a glimpse, although they don’t do justice to the real things: multi-textured, with tons of detail imparted using different lengths of fibre, different textures, even sparkly wool for the wheels of the plane – when you see them for real you can see the many-textured and layered detail which is truly beautiful. Anyway, I just wanted to share the moment with you as the boys are as pleased as punch, with Carl enthusiastically dressing up as a pirate to get into the mood before I took his photo.
At Niels swimming lesson this afternoon a voice called out to me “so what did they think?” and there was Elsebeth, watching her young daughter in the pool. It seemed the finishing touch to be able to tell her in person that the rugs, which she designed herself out of frustration of not being able to find anything for her own kids and which generated so many comments from her friends that she has now turned them into an international enterprise, come from just around the corner and I will see her every week.
Check out her website if you are interested, http://www.tinderboxx.com

School holidays are over...at last!

Thank goodness, the school holidays are over. Admittedly it was only the autumn break, which meant 11 days (which included two weekends) of home-based fun. However this was the first time I’ve…what’s the word….endured both kids at home for the holidays as usually I’ve worked three days a week and the kids kept going to daycare as usual. Now that we’ve been here for about 11 weeks we are slowly building up a circle of friends for Niels to play with, but we really miss our network of family and friends in Holland who were always willing to jump in and take one or both of the kids for an afternoon or longer if we needed a break. Now there’s just me, and Holger on Saturday afternoon and on a good weekend, for all of Sunday as well (not lately though).
Carl is too young yet to go to a friends house to play – at two and a half he is just starting to get to grips with the concept of playing with friends instead of just alongside them. He’s at the frustrating age where he clamours for every brightly coloured thing regardless of who owns it or happens to be holding it at the time – he’s like an oversized magpie with an endless appetite for other kids’ toys. Likewise, when Niels has friends over to play, Carl wants to be included in the party and claim the new-found friend as his own. Of course Niels thinks he is far too cool and grown up to play with his little brother in front of others so the scene dissolves into a screaming match between the two of them with Niels trying to physically eject Carl from the room and Carl sitting down on his bottom – I swear he can actually suction himself to the floor – refusing to budge and give up pride of place alongside the coveted visitor.
Needless to say by day 11 the atmosphere was a little fraught. Holger took Tuesday off work to spend some time with the kids as he is flying to Holland tomorrow for a week, and by lunchtime he was muttering about “never taking a day off again”. I hope that was an idle threat!
So Mummy is trying to polish her patience skills but they have been sorely tested. We're counting down the days now until my Mum arrives (next Tuesday, just 5 days to go!) which will provide some welcome relief. By that of course I mean relief for the kids from having to put up with me. They both looked extremely happy to be getting back on the scool bus this week, our trio of smiles must have made the bus driver think we had had the most relaxing holiday ever!