Thursday, July 28, 2005
` Thursday, July 28, 2005
This sounded like a mortifyingly bizarre combination, which was beckoning me to make an order for it 3 days ago at the Cha Bar in the Leela Palace Galleria, Bangalore. I'm a big fan of the juicy yellow fruit, so with some tacit encouragement of a fellow colleague, I decided to venture out of my comfort zone (of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with fries) for the unknown. Although admittedly, my stomach didn't seem too enthusiastic about the input, and given that I was never known to be a fan of salads.
It turned out to be a pleasant surprise, something to note in the recipe book (that is, if I ever decide one fine day that the kitchen didn't just belong to my mum). The generous portions of ripe mango chunks blended amazingly well with the lettuce and chicken sausage bits. In the grand scheme of things, there was something about the olive oil-based dressing that seemed to make sense. It finally dawned on me that the salad world wasn't just about dodgily assembled SQ business class appetisers *shudder* and Thousand Island dressing. I have been converted.
Given that I'm the kind who can take the same dish or meal on consecutive days without feeling any desire for a change in palette, imagine the knowing smile on the service staff's face, as we approached the cafe for lunch daily, pretending to fuss over the menu selection and finally succumbing to the same ol' choice of a meal. Alright, I admit. It wasn't really about the lettuce, tomatoes or chicken that made it so memorable.
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Monday, July 25, 2005
` Monday, July 25, 2005
That is, if you happen to take one too many planes with surf-happy pilots, who probably think that the sky is really the limit. I have to refrain myself from whining about the terrible plane-ride from Goa to Bangalore, as strangely telepathic as it sounds, my dear ex-colleague (cum former farawayland exploring companion) whiskeysprite had also blogged a similar event (events, in her unfortunate situation) in the skies. While relaying my story this morning, my colleague J and another co-worker S over in Bangalore also related similar horrifyingly long waits at the departure lounges for flights that never seemed to take off.
It's pretty amazing, but the non-equality that plagues mankind somewhat disappears when people are gathered in an airport lounge. Everyone's desperate (to get on that damn plane and reach their destination), lonely (calling up friends and family like never before), tired (butt-burn suffered from long hours on the lounge chair) and downright helpless. Despite pointless reassurances by ground staff on the likelihood of not spending another night in the host city and that the plane "will take off in no time", everyone's already turned into some hotpot of emotions. Flared tempers aside, nothing can be done, until the decision is made to take off despite horrid weather conditions. Which is when the action starts and the pilots start to think of themselves as extras on Black Hawk Down.
Truth be told, aside from the tiny plane I was on that was attempting (I repeat, attempting but missed twice!) to land in some God-forsaken place, the plane back to Bangalore from Goa was possibly the most unnerving flight experience of my travelling life. It was so bad, I was actually trying to recall how much insurance my family would've been able to claim, should I have met with a mishap. The passengers actually broke out in applause (amidst silent cursing, I'd reckon) when the somewhat 'drunken' plane finally touched down at the airport.
And yes, I think I am adequately covered for death or hospitalisation. That is, if I can recall where exactly I'd placed the relevant documents.
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Sunday, July 24, 2005
` Sunday, July 24, 2005
Having a weekend doing absolutely nothing alone can be rather enjoyable, as I managed to devour my entire month's supply of magazines (Kevin left Britney! Jen's found love! Katie's marrying Tom!) in an evening and start reading a book this morning. As well as indulge in a 45-minute Swedish massage session at the hotel, which turned out to be well worth the S$40 (despite the not-so-glamorous therapy rooms which were still undergoing renovations). If only life could be this easy 7 days a week.
I had been scouring the WH Smith bookstore at the departure lounge back in Singapore for a novel to take with me on my one-week solo travel. After much ponderous deliberation over various chicklit, self-help and best-seller titles, I settled on Marrying Buddha written by Wei Hui, who also penned the bestseller Shanghai Baby. Despite numerous typos noted along the chapters, it kept me engrossed up till the time that I had decided to take a breather for lunch. It is also strangely captivating as somehow, I seem to be able to put a face to the characters by relating them vaguely to people I knew or chanced upon in real-life (no names will be mentioned, of course). Drama aside, the author writes fluently and plugs a variety of famous quotes or book extracts at the start of each chapter, which makes for a more interesting read. I might consider having a read of the controversial first novel when I can get my hands on it back home.
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Friday, July 22, 2005
` Friday, July 22, 2005
Here I am, sitting in front of a cool black IBM desktop in the sleek Goa Marriott executive lounge (business travel has its upgrading privileges), mucking around, not knowing what else to do but surf the Internet. While on a turbulent 1.5 hour plane ride here, I chatted merrily with my cabin neighbour Steve, a friendly native Goan based in Detroit, who was travelling back to visit his family. I told him that I was looking forward to some sun and sea, only to receive an emphatic smile and news that I would be rather disappointed visiting at this time of the year.
It was monsoon season, he kindly explained, and rains will be expected from June to August every year. I told him I had extrapolated Bangalore's somewhat dry weather for the past 4 days into the weekend, hoping it might be the same case for Goa. However, he was spot-on in his forecast, as the plane landed amidst light persistent rain. He jokingly added that I may want to return towards the end of the year for the sunshine.
It took almost an hour to reach the hotel, as the city of Panaji was almost 30km away from the airport. The resort hotel looks very similar to the Melia Benoa in Bali in terms of structure, but typical of Goan architecture, the buildings are brightly coloured and very cheery, despite the gloomy weather. If you're looking for an enclave-style resort, then the Park Hyatt might be a better choice, but I defected to the Marriott this time, due to recent poor online reviews of the former. However, the Marriott is ever-reliable, with spacious rooms and extremely hospitable staff, so I'm suitably impresssed so far. With the exception of the rather tiny pool, I definitely didn't regret making the switch. Looking forward to a weekend of relaxation and absolute slacking. Let's just hope that the weather will improve tomorrow.
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Thursday, July 21, 2005
` Thursday, July 21, 2005
I've long wanted to visit this quaint Japanese city that was apparently left virtually unscathed from the WWII Allied bombings. Two Friday evenings ago, my colleague and myself found our way to Tokyo station to catch the renowned Shinkansen bullet train to Kyoto.
We took up a package with an established agency (Sunrise Tours) which included a 2-night stay at a tourist-class hotel and return train tickets. It wasn't exactly the cheapest option, but for the convenience of someone arranging the logistics, which mattered given the lack of time to plan the trip. It was well worth it, as the tickets arrived efficiently at the Tokyo hotel 2 days before departure. We opted for the Nozomi Express, which shaved off literally 1+ hour of additional travel time as it sped past several stations starting from Tokyo, only making stops at Shinagawa and Nagoya before arriving in Kyoto, en-route to Osaka. This is especially useful for those who plan to leave on a Friday evening after work.
One thing about Kyoto is that the hotels fill up pretty quickly, especially when you're planning your trip a little too late. Be warned. The one we stayed at was extremely close to the space-age train station (just a 5-minute walk), which was linked to a massive mall filled with a gamut of shopping and eating choices.
The New Miyako hotel lived up to its 'tourist class' reputation. Check-in service was prompt and polite, the room was decently sized and like all Japanese hotels, very clean. Verdict: Good for an overnight sleep and convenient enough to catch the regional trains.
We also took up a full day tour with the same travel agency which included an extremely packed itinerary of temples and lunch included at the Kyoto handicraft centre. Again, it was worth every penny as you get an English-speaking guide and a friendly bus ride everywhere. Unfortunately, the skies opened up in the afternoon and had everyone scurrying for umbrellas. I was pretty sure the lone seller was smirking his way to the bank, what with the exorbitant prices quoted to the haplessly drenched foreigners.
Determined to maximise our short stay in this scenic city (despite an activity-filled day with voluminous purchases made at the handicraft centre and the Kiyomizu shopping area), we trudged on, umbrellas and all, into the downtown area which was very similar to the Tokyo streets. Next tourist stop: the famed Pontocho waterfront district.
After much directional errors (mostly my fault), we found ourselves at the start of a long but narrow street flanked by numerous restaurants and bars full of character. The only drawback was that numerous eating places only had Japanese menus and there were no point-and-pick options, although it must be a really good experience to try those closed-door ones. We settled (after much relief and a 45-minute waiting time) for one which had an English menu. If fusion is your cup of tea, you might appreciate the fact that sometimes duck ramen is served in the form of compressed rolls. Highly confusing cuisine, but somewhat enjoyable with Sapporo beer.
It was such a pity that my knowledge of Japanese is still restricted to elementary hiragana, otherwise I'd reckon we'd be more adventurous with the choice of restaurant.
After dinner, we attempted to locate some geishas in the Gion district just across the bridge from Pontocho, but the search was futile (given the weather conditions). We surrendered after ten minutes of aimless wandering and headed back to the hotel for a good shower and sleep.
Kyoto is an amazingly beautiful city with a lot of respect for its history. It definitely has a less hectic feel than Tokyo. The buildings (with the exception of the train station and hotels) do not appear to impose their presence onto the visitors. I can imagine how pretty the gardens surrounding the temples will be in different seasons of the year, particularly autumn. Definitely a must-visit for anyone who's planning a Japan holiday. Photos to follow.
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Wednesday, July 20, 2005
` Wednesday, July 20, 2005
I have almost given up on finding a coffee joint in Bangalore that serves not just coffee with milk, but the fancier versions such as latte, cappuccino or mocha. Don't get me wrong, the variations are on offer on the cafe menus. But when you place an order, it almost always ends up as coffee with milk. Or milk coffee, given the copious amount of milk they tend to blend with their drink. Perhaps it has been localised to suit the tastes of the people who live here, but it is indeed strange to find no milk foaming out of a cappuccino, a flat white masquerading as a latte, or a macchiato which looks strangely like a miniature version of the former.
It makes me realise that creating foam from milk is possibly a barrista skillset which has yet to see its manifestation here. On the condition that it is not about the milk here having a scientifically proven reason for not being able to "rise to the occasion", I see an extremely viable business opportunity for Starbucks. As you can see, I am suffering from traumatic withdrawal symptoms from the very absence of frothy hot mocha.
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Monday, July 18, 2005
` Monday, July 18, 2005
Yeah. You'd wished the blog entry would have been as salaciously written to live up to its title, but unfortunately, it's not what you think. It's about giving my bed the much-anticipated attention it was deprived of for the past 3 weeks that I have been away from home. Sadly, our little rendezvous will end tonight as I make my way to Bangalore for yet another 3 weeks. As I settled into the comfort of the pleasantly thick but soft duvet last Saturday early morning at 2am, I told myself nothing (not even the 7-menu pillow selection nor luxury 5,000-thread cotton sheets of a decently-graded business hotel) compared to the feeling of being under the covers of my own bed. I bid it a reluctant farewell today by insisting on an afternoon lie-in.
Makes me wonder if this is one of the red-alert symptoms of business travel lag.
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Thursday, July 14, 2005
` Thursday, July 14, 2005
To be differentiated from stoning (i.e. in the days of yore, thieves risked getting stoned to death when caught). This is a uniquely Singaporean verb which can be used to describe a person staring blankly into space for an extended period of time, or when you realised that the person you were yakking with for the past 5 minutes had their attention span oscillating into space and beyond. The symptoms of "stone-ing" include spaced-out eyes, a much-delayed reaction to any physical contact (I meant nudging you dirty minded one) and an apologetic or zombified reaction that goes along the lines of "Huh?", "Sorry, you were saying something?".
I'm assuming that our brains do not function actively on a round-the-clock basis, that it probably needs some shuteye once in awhile. But when you get this hibernation process occuring in the midst of a boring business meeting, one can get into trouble.
This happened to me in the morning during a formal 25-seater (yawn-inducing) presentation. I was literally deep in the midst of the stone-ing process when an attendee posed an out-of-this-world question during the Q&A session. The organiser had diverted the question to me without any warning. It took 2 loud prompts on the microphone before I'd snap out of my vegetative state. It felt like I had been rudely awaken from sleepwalking. It was only after a few seconds of frenzied "Huh? Huh? You were saying?!?!" that I realised 24 pairs of eyes were fixated at the mock trauma I was undergoing.
I am guilty of stone-ing at any time of the day and it gets worse in the afternoon after lunch, where the brain stages a staunch mutiny against utilisation until way past the working hours, which is when I'm at my most productive. I've found a good remedy to minimise the occurrence of this: blogging.
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Wednesday, July 13, 2005
` Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Your guess is as good as mine.
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` Wednesday, July 13, 2005
1. There are absolutely no dustbins lining the Tokyo streets nor train stations. C had kindly offered a possible explanation that similar to London, this situation may be attributable to the fear of extremists placing bombs in well-hidden areas a.k.a. in the bins. Ended up lugging pieces of litter in my bag until I returned to the hotel room.
Lesson learnt: Attribute reluctance to litter to overzealous (but strangely effective) anti-littering national campaigns back home. Learn to appreciate the wonders of the omnipresent dustbin in Singapore.
2. Lunching alone is not a phenomenally uncommon activity. Ladies (not just solo business travellers) are happy to sit through 3-course meals without having a companion at hand.
Lesson learnt: Ladies who lunch, you are not alone. Literally.
3. Free expression and creativity can be inspired in possibly repressed children unbeknownst to their clueless parents. Evidenced at Harajuku, where teens decked out in bizarre comic-book transformations linger around hoping to catch the cameras of curious tourists.
Lesson learnt: You'd never know if your kid had milkmaid / gothica / cross-dressing / superhero aspirations. Until too late.
4. Trains (including the Shinkansen and subway) arrive on the dot and rarely stop for more than a minute at any station. People do wait and make way for passengers to get off the trains.
Keep left on escalators or risk getting run over by overzealous office workers at rush-hour time.
5. 100-yen shops contain the most un-useful thingamajigs known to mankind, but somehow abstract rationalisation will ensure that you end up with at least one such item bound for cold storage back home.
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` Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Both my colleague (let's call her C) and myself have been feeling the sniffles and sore throat from too much gallivanting in the wondrous cities of Tokyo and Kyoto.
Despite our not-so-optimal medical condition, we managed to trotter off (surrendering to a 10- minute taxi ride instead of the subway this time) to Mujirushi in Ginza, which was a standalone flagship store for the no-brand brand (no pun intended, it literally means that in Japanese). Ended up with massively frenzied wallet damage (as usual) buying mindless gifts for friends and family. The range of products were astoundingly larger than what we got in Singapore. C was equally overwhelmed by how much cheaper the label was as compared to the exorbitant London prices, literally taking the household department by storm, stacking up on towels, pillows and what-nots. And then came the pain of having to think of an optimal method of packing the voluminous purchases for the flight home.
We ended up with so much hand-carry at check-out that we surrendered to eating at the in-store cafe, which turned out to be a good idea as the food was amazingly tasty and surprisingly affordable. It appeared to be a hangout for students buried in their books after a quick meal and also for the dinner-alone office ladies, which was strangely a common sight in Tokyo.
2 more days to going home, and there is a strange sense of both reluctance and relief to do so. C and myself are determined (health condition notwithstanding) to spend our last Tokyo night at the Park Hyatt bar made famous in the Lost in Translation movie. More on that and the Kyoto trip later. Meantime, back to facing another dreary work day .*sniff*
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Friday, July 08, 2005
` Friday, July 08, 2005
A recap of my errant ways to date in Tokyo:
1. Did the "ugly tourist" thing by making an almost clean sweep of the wondrous range of free toiletries (hairbrush, comb, Shiseido skincare samples!) offered at the business hotel I was put up at and not feeling a slight tinge of guilt to think of the poor housekeeping lady, who'd have to take pains to refill and re-organise the aftermath of the rampage.
2. Had way too much beer on a more-than-usual frequency i.e. every dinner meal has been accompanied by the trusty gold label Asahi or Yebisu. Even my colleague is deluded into thinking that it must have been something about the weather here that induced this nightly drinking binge.
3. Worked way too hard on a Friday morning trying to meet the deadline on the following Thursday. Also an excuse to absolve all guilt of slacking around too much for the past 4 days. In addition to a valiant attempt to escape the office early today for the bullet train ride to Kyoto. Can't wait.
4. Wandered into the 6-storey Don Quixote supermarket-cum-curios galore in Roppongi spending unnecessary money on stocking up of more hairdye (2 boxes to be exact. The colours here are just so tempting!). Stared drop-jawed at the wide array of adult unmentionables stocked cheerily like a candystore right next to the children's toys section. Brings a new meaning to the term "everything under one roof".
5. Sitting in front of my laptop typing like I'm engrossed in getting my work done. Make that for the past 5.5 months.
How's that for a week of misbehaviour?
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` Friday, July 08, 2005
I was fixated on the BBC news channel yesterday, which was broadcasting a continuously grim coverage of the London subway and bus bombings that occured just a day after the celebrations winning the Olympic bid. The drastic turn of events just a day apart seemed rather disturbing, as I could have been in London this week to witness what had happened. I'm troubled by the fact that once again, in the view of the disillusioned masterminds (who were most likely terrorists trying to make a statement), innocent lives were simply collateral damage in the grand scheme of things. Apparently, this was planned to take place on the day of the G8 convention opening which was held in Gleneagles, Scotland, where wealthy nations have gathered to attempt to resolve world issues related to poverty and climate changes, amongst other objectives. Hence, the defiant show of atrocities in the face of seemingly noble intentions baffle me.
In any case, I am simply an ordinary human being trying to live precariously in a world that is no longer safe on any account. Am I supposed to accept the fact that someday, my loved ones and myself will end up as involuntary sacrifice or unwilling matyrs because of the prerogatives of misguided organisations? Is this what you'd deem as "living for others"? We will never know.
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Thursday, July 07, 2005
` Thursday, July 07, 2005
So it's official. Londoners were ecstatic yesterday (according to CNN/BBC/Fox and what-nots) over the triumphant marginal win (54 votes to 50) over longtime rivals Paris to host the 2012 Olympics. This brought back the memory of strolling along Canary Wharf in south London just a week ago, amazed at the numerous banners beckoning "London for 2012" along the waterfront esplanade.
While on my business trip there in the past week, the manager had very kindly declared the half of last Thursday to be "Team Sightseeing Day" for the uninitiated, like myself. After a brief 7 minute ride on the Thames rivercruise, we landed at St Catherine's Dock and travelled the long pavement on Southbank admiring the sights and sounds of the city up till Waterloo.
Highlights included a brief visit to the Tate Museum, which was once a derelict powerhouse presently converted into a modern art museum (Frida Kahlo's works were being displayed), touristy photos taken of the Shakespeare Theatre Company and the London Eye (pardon my ignorance, but I had always imagined it as a building instead of a massive Ferris Wheel!). We ended up having a barbeque in a very pretty garden of the manager's place in Clapham South. Only for the skies to open up just when I was about to step out of the Canary Wharf subway station.
I have to admit this but for once, I was rather impressed with the sheer beauty of the old-versus-new layout of the city (apparently, they keep the facade of old buildings when a new one is constructed!). My visit here 10 years ago and the February trip were fraught with cold rainy weather and grey skies. No wonder the travel guides insist on paying visits to the UK in summer.
Hopefully, winning the Olympics bid will not translate into an overly aggressive modernisation of a very unique city like London. I read and heard about Beijing sprucing up its image in anticipation of the 2008 Olympics, which was probably a good thing, having spent 3 dreary winter months there in 2002 and thinking that so much of the city could do with a little spring-cleaning. A pity I'd missed out on the hoopla that surrounded the IOC meeting that was hosted in tiny Singapore, with all the dignitaries and sport stars. It must have been such a huge event that businesses involved in the convention must be laughing all the way to the bank now. On the side, I wonder if the day would come for Singapore to place a bid to host the Olympics. That would really be something for the history books.
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` Thursday, July 07, 2005
That is possibly the only Japanese word I use with much fervent enthusiasm (aside from the equally useful arigato gozaimasu) after landing in Tokyo last Sunday. I learnt this word not from Japanese elementary classes long forsaken (actually that was only back in January this year), but from a bemused Japanese ex-colleague who found the solution to my futile attempt to communicate with the natives in daily scenarios, eg.
Service staff (in Japanese): Hello, can I take your order? What would you like to drink first?
Me (trying hard to remember nuggets of Japanese which conveniently disappear in much-needed situations): Er, sumimasen. English menu? No?
(blank stare awaiting further gibberish)
...ahh...Coca-Cola? Yes? Arigato!!
(following vigorous hand gestures describing chicken / seafood meal choices)
I am told that the word is an all-round star performer in daily Japanese conversations, convenient and adequately polite enough to be used as sorry, excuse me, (apologetic) thank you, and any other time a gaijin (aka foreigner) cannot figure out how to get out of an awkward social situation with a Japanese speaker. Typically, it is acknowledged with a kindly nod of sympathy by the affected party, or one may invite a continuous rant of Japanese in the hope that the clueless gaijin may suddenly figure out a word or two mid-sentence. Thank the heavens that most Japanese people possess meticulous manners and infinite patience with the overseas visitors.
Come to think of it, the service level in almost every shop or restaurant that I've been to in Tokyo and its surrounds had been close to impeccable, almost robotic in delivery but somewhat you would credit the people for performing their duties with a smile. However, I also realised that people on rush-hour trains, possibly like every other city in the world, tend to forget their manners when the train doors open up. It is a strange juxtaposition of culture which I will be interested in deciphering on more frequent visits to this country.
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