EmmaGoodEgg

Call Bomba

Last weekend I found myself in the midst of weary bleary-eyed men and got a lowdown of what happens on a stag weekend in Labuan. Yes, that's right party people, a stag weekend in Labuan.

All ears for a possible fly-on-the-wall post, I tried to pry like a woman and listened to Bobby's tale:

Bobby: So we rented a car to drive around the island and the car rental company handed over the grungiest Proton Wiras they had in their inventory. It was dirty and smelled, and didn’t have a full tank of petrol. Well, for RM70 what did we expect eh?

Me: Right, it smelled of what?

Bobby: It was just dirty and on its last wheels. Anyway, on our last day we were running late and had to be at the ferry by 1.00pm. We were supposed to leave the hotel by 11.30am but we dawdled over breakfast so we left an hour later. We were in a bit of a hurry lah.

Me: So did anybody make it on stage last night?

Bobby, ignoring me and in a ‘griping the wheels of a shaking race car’ pose: I gunned the Wira down the Labuan roads, cranking the engine, with SP and MatBon in the car. Ari and the others were in separate cars a few minutes behind. We had this running joke whenever we saw a cyclist we’d say, “How many points for the cyclist? Heh Heh Heh.”

Me: I cannot believe nobody brought the house down in Labuan.

Bobby, still in his pose, eyes wild: So there we were careening down the road, turning this way and that, around corners, pointing out to cyclists heh heh heh, followed by Is It Your Grandfather's Road? when suddenly Matbon goes, “Dude. The car’s on fire.”

[And SP, who was in the car with Bobby and I when Bobby was telling this story, snickered.]

Me, wide-eyed: What??

Bobby: And we're like oh my God! There was smoke coming out of the air condition vents, and there was this smell of something burning! So we screeched to a halt in front of a bus stop, got out in a hurry and tried to call Ari who was driving the other car but oh no! He's taking the scenic route!! Gaaah!

SP, a man of few words: It’s true.

Me: You got to be fucking kidding me.

Bobby, arms flailing: So we came to a screeching halt in front of this bus stop, got out of the car, threw the boot open and grabbed our bags. There was this young kid hanging about the bus stop idly watching 3 men in the face of a potentially exploding vehicle, so I took out my wallet and said, “Hey kid. Here’s 10 dollars. If this car explodes and burst into flames, call Bomba.”

I had no idea Labuan could be such a happening place.

Ps/ Anyway, the car rental company was kinda expecting it. The boys returned the cars and got on the boat on time.

The boys de-briefing at the Serasa Ferry Terminal.

Phuket, Thailand

I was in Phuket with five of my girl friends in 2000. We booked a package from the Banyan Tree Phuket. At the time I wasn't quite the girlie girl and haven't been on a girlie beach holiday so bestbud Diva D sent me the packing list that pretty much said NO JEANS. Everyone met in Bangkok and upon our arrival at the Banyan Tree, we unpacked, changed into beachwear, had drinks decorated with flowers and planned our itinerary. Over the next 6 days, we ticked off the must-dos efficiently: A cruise around the islands, eat seafood, rent a Jeep and drive around Phuket, spa spa and spa, buy fake goods, go into Boots buy unneccessary hair products and be amazed that you are in Boots outside the UK, Transvestite Cabaret, Tiger Show...the works. It was my first girlie holiday and those were the days before digital cameras so the pictures I have of the memorable occasion are (thankfully) in an album somewhere.

Eight years later I have just returned from a second holiday in Phuket with my family in tow. It felt like too short a holiday and we were a bit sad (and a bit sunburnt) when we left the Villa, but it's good to be back. When we got home Willow meowed accusingly to us, I think she missed us when we were not around and probably stroppy that we got to eat first grade sashimi at Naoki. But that's for another post i.e. when I can get Bobby to do his food review on Naoki.

It may be a little bit different from the holiday Bobby and I usually have (namely hours and hours of simply monging by the beach interspersed with lots of eating) because this time we have Mimi and Azim with us but it was enjoyable all the same. Bobby told Mimi's grandparents, who met us at the airport last night, that she swam in the sea for the first time. Grandma was a little worried, but we told her that the sea in Phuket was flat and calm, its water warm, clean and a beautiful blue.

It's hard to imagine the Phuket that was during the tsunami in 2004. Bobby and I watched some video footage of the tsunami on YouTube just to remember what the island (and India, Sri Lanka, Indonesia and Malaysia) went through. The videos were scary and chaotic, but I'm glad to say that three years later Phuket has lost none of its charm and its tourism industry still buzzling. One evening Bobby, Azim and I left the serene tropical atmosphere of the resort to have some seafood and trawled Patong Beach. Which is a must-do when one is in Phuket. Azim saw a transvestite up close and got flashed fake boobies. These are also must-dos. I refrained from smuggling him into that show where the women do all those circus tricks with their private bits lest I be accused of leading my 16 year old son astray.

The resort recommended us to go to the Baan Rim Pa for some Thai seafood. The restaurant has one of the best location in Phuket, on a cliff overlooking the Andaman Sea. The girls and I also came to dine at the Baan Rim Pa all those years ago. However the food this time was not very good and I think after years of recommendations from concierges the owners are resting on their laurels. We had better Thai food cooked by the chef the resort provided and even in Brunei at Wandi's (a Thai restaurant in Jerudong, now unfortunately closed). Bobby was disappointed, but I said that Phuket is not known for its seafood, but is known more for its sex tourism. We headed off to Patong's Soi Bangla (Bangla Road) where the nightlife is centered on.

Baan Rim Pa

Azim in Thailand's omnipresent Tuk-Tuk heading back from Patong, a taxi-like vehicle known so because of how the engine sounds.

We also went for a cruise around the islands. The resort arranged a half-day trip for us and at 10am we went by car to the marina at Phuket Boat Lagoon. Upon seeing a rather flashy yacht, I said to Bobby, "Oh this is nice" and Bobby replied "No not that one". Well, it was no yacht but we had our own little boat complete with a Captain (with a tan surpassing George Hamilton but without the Botox) and his First Mate. Our Captain showed us a map of the islands we were about to visit around Phang Nga Bay, his running commentary a bit useless, I couldn't understand a word he was saying because his English had a thick Thai accent, but I'm not complaining.

Ahoy Mateys!

Exiting The Marina

We saw a lagoon that tourists could access via a small opening in the limestone cliff. There were people in their little canoes going in and out of the opening. Our Captain however, thought it would be quaint if he anchored close to the cliff, got his passengers to step off the boat and then precariously climb onto a ledge nestling in the limestone, just so we could see the lagoon. I put a brave face on and climbed ungainly, arms legs and ass akimbo.

Canoe Access

Ledge Access

The Lagoon

Took the customary picture of James Bond Island (known in Thai as Ko Tapu) called so because Francisco Scamaranga (Roger Moore's Bond arch nemisis in The Man With A Golden Gun) placed a laser gun type thing at the top of the island to harness solar power in order to destroy earth with a mmnnmmzzgggppddd! *cue 60's style sound effects of laser

The islands were teaming with hordes of tourists (young Japanese girls, large Americans, loud Europeans) in beachwear every colour and design, their faces red and a whole lot of sweat. Cameras clicking away. We were no different.

On the adjacent island of Ko Khao Phingkan, tourists stand on the beach to take pictures of James Bond Island.

When we returned a few hours later from the islands we brought Mimi for another swim in the pool. She swam a lot this holiday and everytime we brought her out of the water she seemed a little disgruntled and diva-like. She's a little water fiend, our Mimi. Bobby also calls her a fresh air fiend because she is happiest outdoors and is always raring to go for her morning walk when the sun (and her father) has just woken up. Our Phuket days were hot, sometimes blisteringly so. Even though we slather sunblock all over her exposed bits, Mimi got a little tanned and a little attitude.

A Lil' Diva With Attitude

We bought her a little straw hat from Phuket for extra shade. She liked it better than the flowery girly hats I subject her to, but it makes her look a little 'Crocodile Dundee'...

Azim and Mimi

Whilst our Villa was the best part of the resort, the main resort itself was rather nice...

The Entrance

The Library

The Beach Club

And on our last afternoon in Phuket, we stayed out by the beach to catch the sunset.

How to get there from Brunei?

You catch a Royal Brunei Airlines flight to Bangkok and then hop on a Thai Airways flight to Phuket. Ask for your luggage to be sent straight to Phuket. At the airport in Bangkok, proceed to arrivals, pass customs and go up to departures where you check in for your Thai Airways flight (and vice versa for the return leg).

The Boxwood Cafe

A few weeks ago when I first told Bobby that work was bringing me to London, his eyes lit up and he said, “You must go eat at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant!”. But for the purposes of this post, let’s go a step or two backwards.

Ever since Astro has programmed the Asian Food Channel (or better known as the AFC) into our cable TV, there is not much else that Bobby and I watch. E Channel is skipped. So is AXN. Nowadays we watch Dosanko Cooking. Chef Okigawa is the oldest chef on the longest running cooking show on Japanese TV. She has a sidekick on the show who is a funny looking Japanese man constantly bowing and saying “Haaittt!!” We watch Charlie Trotter, the chef who looks like Superman. And then we burst into silly giggles thinking of him donning his suit and saving the world during the advertisements. Chef Wan is a firm favourite. The same Chef Wan who is so out of the closet that he’s throwing away the closet.

And then there’s Gordon Ramsay, whom we watch more than any other. I bought his new autobiographical book, Playing With Fire. The book tells us how Mr Ramsay hones his celebrity chefdom. I read about his restaurants and how he runs his life and businesses. And because Bobby is a foodie like no other person I know, he read the book first.

So my husband, who is living vicariously through his wife, suggested that I eat at a Ramsay restaurant and he mulled over which one. I planned to bring my dear sister-in-law and her boyfriend to dinner (for I missed her dearly and for moral support perhaps). In the days preceding my departure, Bobby would pore over the reviews online. We decided that eating at Petrus, or Gordon Ramsay at Claridges, or Royal Hospital Road would turn me into a nervous wreck, given the daunting atmosphere of fine dining. So maze was the first choice, but unfortunately it was closed for renovations. Somehow or rather, I quite liked the idea of The Boxwood Café. According to Mr Ramsay’s book, it is the only restaurant of his where he lets his children dine at. So Bobby called and made a reservation for three at 7.30 on a Monday evening. We then spent time looking at the menu online and thought about what he I would eat.

The Boxwood Café is located at The Berkeley Hotel, 2 minutes away from Harvey Nichols in Knightsbridge. London is cold this time of year. After checking in my coat, I found sis-in-law and boyf already in the warmth of the Boxwood mezzanine bar area. The décor was slightly informal, lovely and chic…olive green upholstery and dark wood. We had preprandials and after being suitably limber from drinks (for courage you see), we asked to be shown to our table. The dining area is a level down from the bar area. Our table was the middle banquet seat at the dining area. As far as I know, we weren’t in Siberia.

I had planned to order what I think Bobby would, so for starters I had the fried Irish rock oysters with fennel and lemon, sis-in-law had the potted salt beef brisket with grain mustard, pickled cucumber and buckwheat flour crackers and her darling had the foie gras parfait with smoked duck, tea jelly and brioche. We ordered a bottle of shampoo and the evening was then spent in a daze of good company and equally good food.

So there we were, 2 asians and 1 from up north living it up at The Boxwood Café. We felt quite special. And we talked about how great our banquet table was. It probably wasn’t the best table at the restaurant, but what do I know. The waiters were attentive and perhaps a little bit amused at the behaviour of country bumpkins. For mains, I had what Bobby would have had, the red wine braised shoulder of Dedham Vale beef with curly kale, parmesan mash and black truffle. Sis-in-law had the roasted loin of Scottish venison with creamed sprouts, chestnuts without the smoked bacon and boyfriend had the roasted loin of suckling pig with garlic roasted potatoes and grain mustard sauce.

And for dessert I had the…gosh, by the time desserts came, I probably ate a clown and I wouldn’t have remembered (but don't our desserts look fabulous?) Plus, I think I over tipped.

I must say I enjoyed the food and our evening was pretty swell. I would have liked this post to wax lyrical about the food at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant but honestly, I am no foodie. I can't analyse why celebrity chef Ramsay has 12 michelin stars. I can only say the beef was tender and fell apart into shreds, the oyster inside was moist, and oh, and the truffles? Deeelicious. And if it wasn’t at the behest of Bobby, I’d probably end up unadventurously eating tuna sandwiches in London.

Bobby And The Volcano

The Volcano

Em, Azim and I visited Jogjakarta in Central Java for the first time early last 2006.

We were smitten by the place. Its history, courtly culture, epic natural scenery and by the warmth and graciousness of the Javanese people themselves.

We visited airy palaces in Solo, rode mischievous Java ponies, examined the ancient monument of Borobodur, trekked, ate and generally enjoyed the scenery.

On the ride to the airport at the end of what felt like far too a short trip, I eyed Gunung Merapi, the smoking volcano that stands guard over Jogjakarta and said to Em, “next time we come here, I’ve got to climb that!” Em eyed me back, a little torn between wanting to return to Jogja and wanting to put a dangerously deranged husband straight.

Well, within a year we had returned. We had taken the opportunity to have a few days off, a chance to travel before the bun is done, and to try, as always, to just get a little change in perspective. This time we came with my parents.

After the marathon in December, I had taken to climbing Bukit Shahbandar, two rounds in each weekly session, and taking the boys out for long mountain bike rides in the hills between Rimba and Jerudong. I was fairly fit, but had been enjoying my food a bit much, so had a little trepidation in thinking about the climb and my expanding waist.

On the first day we toured Jogjakarta. We started with a trip to the Kraton, or palace, of the Sultan of Jogjakarta. It was quite pleasant, a string of wide-open pendopo’s or pavilions, built around groomed lava sand squares.

We watched expertly conducted Javanese dances and inspected quiet halls displaying gifts to the palace. A pity the artifacts of state were not on show, having been damaged in last year’s earthquake. It was never the less a fascinating first look at Javanese court culture.

Court Dancers

The Kraton is located on a straight line between the summit of Merapi and the coastal site of Parangitis, all of these locations important to one another and the region of Central Java.

Kraton

Legend has it that the founding (pre-Islamic) King of the Region, Senopati entered into a pact with the “Queen of the South Seas”, Ratu Kidul. In return for his devotions, she would provide protection and guidance. The story goes that Senopati was taught warfare and statecraft by the Queen in her underwater lair off the southern coast.

Successive Mataram Kings have continued in their devotion. Every year on the anniversary of the Kings coronation offerings and prayers are given, at the Kraton, on the south coast and on the slopes of Merapi.

People are quite fascinated by Ratu Kidul. At beach resorts on the south coast, bathers are reminded not to wear green. It is the colour of the Queen and wearing it will encourage her to take you as her subject in her underwater kingdom.

The previous Sultan of Jogjakarta is quoted as saying that she ages with the moon being young and beautiful when the moon is at the start of its phase.

Some may cluck with disapproval at such goings on, but I am not one to judge. It also makes for a colourful history.

We visit the Water Palace, man-made pools built by 17th Century Kings. One place that I wanted to visit, but which was closed by reason of earthquake damage, was the “coiled well”. This is an underground chamber, built to mirror Ratu Kiduls underwater palace, designed for monarchial assignations with the Kingdoms spiritual protector.

Water Palace aka Taman Sari

Apart from the history and culture, Jogjakarta is a lively low-rise city, home to a number of universities. I appreciate the quiet dignity and gentle manners of the Javanese, which gives way great exuberance and love of life. The Javanese do love their art, dancing and music, not to mention their food.

We lunched at “Sriyati Fried Chicken”, recommended by the hotel. Real local style. We had a whole fried chicken- beak, feet and all. A whole deep fried ikan gurami. Lontong, nasi goreng, soto ayam and the batter from the chicken.

Sriyati Remains

After lunch, we visited the Affandi Mueseum. I think that Affandi is one of the 20th Centuries great artists. His impressionist work is captivating. His former house, now the museum, contains some paintings that can genuinely be said to contain the heart and soul of the artist. A tortured sensitive soul, who expresses on canvas life as he sees it, directly, without filtration.

The Affandi Museum

My dear Pater, on Javanese painters, prefers Basoeki Abdullah and thinks that Affandi is overrated, and much too fond of his misery. Each to his own I guess.

We finished off a fine day with a Rijstafel, back at our hotel, Amanjiwo.

Rijstafel Dinner

The following day was the day of my climb. The idea is that you set off at 11 at night from the hotel to drive to Selo, the highest village on the slope of Merapi. You climb from midnight to reach the summit by dawn, when the skies are clearest. At any other time, there is a risk of the summit being obscured by cloud.

We planned a restful day. A picnic breakfast and a pony cart ride around the desas surrounding Borobodur. Em and I ate lunch and napped by the pool, all the while glancing with a little trepidation at the smoking volcano in the distance.

From left, Gunung Merbabu, Gunung Merapi, Babu & Pater

Lunch By The Pool

The hotel provided one guide and two porters. This may seem like a lot for just one climber, but someone was needed to carry breakfast. To paraphrase a favorite saying from my footballing days, “it doesn’t matter if you climb the mountain or not, so long as it is done in style.”

I was counseled to remember to always memberi salam, to seek permission to take a path, and to pass through without disturbing people, or things. Thus appropriately prepared, my little expedition set off for our mid-night climb.

It was a quite pleasant climb, in a cool clear night. As we climbed higher, the lights of Central Java spread out and sparkled below us like a blanket of stars. The huge shadow of the next volcano, Merbabu seemed to loom over us at first but not as we climbed higher.

We climbed quickly, stopping only twice. Our experienced guide seemed to lose the track at one point. Being quite an active volcano, landslides and eruptions change the topography of the slope, so tracks further up come and go.

Closer to the top, the winds picked up and clouds threatened to move in. The guide said that if it rained, we would not be able to make the summit because of the threat of landslides. It seems however that we were smiled upon. As we reached the plateau on the last leg to the summit, the winds died and the clouds cleared.

We reached the plateau of Pasar Bubra in a good time of 3 hours. We rested in a little nook of rocks till 4 am for the final push to the crater rim, having a bit of tea and cake.

Picnic At 3am

We clambered up the final leg along quite a difficult, almost vertical wall. Loose stones and rocks also made it a little hairy at times, as you had to make sure that the rocks you are holding did not come away. Near the summit cracks in the rock vented hot sulphurous gasses, and some parts were hot to touch.

Sulphur Stains

The very top, Garuda peak, was reached by 5 am, where we spent an hour to sunrise. I do hate to be corny, but it was otherworldly. Hot gasses swirled around the summit, but it was completely silent. The sulphur smelt like a match being struck. I looked into the crater, dropping away deep into the mountain so the bottom could not be seen, steaming gas.

Garuda Peak

Garuda Peak

I was reminded of the joke of the American who looks down into the crater of the volcano in the Philippines and drawls, “Gee, it sure looks like hell down there’, whereupon the Philipino guide retorts, “these Americans get everywhere.”

We came off the summit before the cloud moved in, back to Pasar Bubrah. The descent was actually a lot more terrifying than the ascent, because in the daylight you can actually see how far you will fall if you get it wrong.

It would not have been an Aman outing without a meal with stunning views. At Pasar Bubrah, we had a picnic on a precipice, of tea, brownies and smoked salmon foccacia.

Smoke Salmon Sandwiches

I returned to the hotel by 10, to a rather happy Em, and my parents who had returned, by elephant, from a tour of Borobodur. We shared adventure stories over breakfast and finally slept. That night we ate nasi goreng at a roadside warung, rounding off a memorable trip to Java.

Feeding The Elephants

Bobby Says I Should Post Haste. And So I Will.

It's been a week since I've posted and to tell you the absolute truth and nothing but the truth, I could go for another week easily. Its not that I have nothing to say, its just that I have TOO MUCH to say so where do I start? Maybe we should just play catch up.

I've been in Singapore since last Sunday and my weekdays since then have been filled to the brim with taxing work. I feel its improper to write about work so that leaves that topic out. I have Beloved Son with me but since I'm in meetings from 8am till the early evening I haven't had the chance to see him outside the hotel room and I'm usually knackered by that time (and so is he...from shopping all day). Azim has since left and even though I hardly saw him during the days, it was nice to have another soul in the hotel room at nights.

The hotel I was in from Sunday till Friday morning was non-descript. Save for the fact it has an OSIM massage chair and this was its only saving grace.

On Tuesday I managed one evening out for dinner with my lovely friend Marilyn who brought me to have some Japanese at Hachi Restaurant where we chatted the girlie talk and I ate Puffer Fish for the first time.

On Friday I moved out from a dingy hotel into a much nicer one that is The Fullerton because Beloved Husband flew in for the weekend to save me. Marilyn and her handsome husband Saik picked me up at the hotel and we went to Robertson Walk to have dinner at a lovely little restaurant called Sage. Bobby was to meet us there with his luggage straight from the airport and suffice to say the moment I saw him, being in Singapore felt a million times better. We monged, we ate, we saw SP and we had a walkabout the shops.

I have some (but not all) pictures of my week.

At The Shangri La for work during the weekdays and although time is spent holed up at its Lily Meeting Room, we lunch by its poolside whilst discussing more work and wishing we were one those less clothed people lounging by the pool.

The Fullerton for the weekend.

Delicious soft as butter pan-seared Foie Gras on the left and extremely yummy Peanut Butter Ice Cream on the right at Sage, The Restaurant.

The Devilled Moules & Frites (Mussels & Fries) at Emmanuel Stroobant's Belgian Restaurant aptly called Brussels Sprouts is now one of my favourite food.

Awesome dramatic dessert with dry ice at Jade Restaurant at The Fullerton.

The newly renovated Royal Plaza On Scotts will be home for the next five days.

Bobby left this evening on BI430. And now I am despondent again.

Lizardus Interruptus

Those who know me well enough, know that I am afraid of lizards. Be it small cicaks (lizard in Malay), or bigger hairy ones that live behind your window, biawaks (monitor lizards), Gila Monsters, even the newt. Any creature that is remotely lizard-shaped will render me a-quivering and a-squealing.

Unfortunately for me, I think the lizard and I have some weird bond. Sometimes the damn thing will scuttle across the ceiling when I'm in the bathroom. Said lizard will park itself above the door so I cannot escape. The lizard will be looking at me, and I'll be looking at it...looking at me, looking at it, looking at me and looking at it, and invariably, the little sucker will fall onto the floor NEAR MY FEET and with a burst of latent superhuman strength I end up almost on/in the sink. There was one time Xander our cat and hunter, brought home a live fat lizard and plopped it on the kitchen floor and I climbed the kitchen table in half a second (Bobby was braver...he ran into the living room and shut the kitchen door on me and the damn thing). Don't think I can't move fast when I want to.

But that was the worst of my encounters with the lizard. Until of course, one of them came swimming with me. This sure is a tale to tell.

Bobby and I were just getting into our holiday last weekend on the Island of the Gods, swimming idly and chatting in between strokes. I was thinking of very happy thoughts when Bobby suddenly asked me to get out of the pool. I'm like Hello Baby *wink, but he didn't seem to get me especially with his eyes wide open looking terrified at the direction of the bushes nearby. So I turned to look the same direction and saw a big-ass monitor lizard peeking out from beneath the red flowers shaped like mini fireworks. When the lizard amongst the flowers saw us, it quickly ducked back into the undergrowth.

But Bobby kept on saying get out get out!! and I'm like whaaaaat tell meeeee!!! I scrambled out of the pool in the most ungainly manner and stood on the deck chair and continued wailing. Bobby goes into the Villa and by this time I am terrified beyond belief but still wanting to know...you know. I'm a masochist like that.

So by now I'm sniffling what is it what is it as I get off the chair to look over the edge of the pool and what do I see? I see a long tail in the water that's what I saw. There was another big lizard and this one was doing the backstroke in the pool. It was the grossest thing in the world. Bobby called the hotel staff for help and they probably thought beloved husband was some mat-salleh who is afraid of a teeny tiny cicak but when they saw the slimy creature swimming they went, "OOOOO besar nya!!" (OOOOO that's damn big man!!)

I spy with my little eye a monitor lizard in the pool.

I think you better call for reinforcements.

Get the slimy sucker! I was yelling from afar.

Okay now I feel faint.

Bobby says he can still see it belly-flopping into the pool.

I Heart Bali

A holiday on the Island of the Gods is a firm favourite of mine. Bali is a picturesque Indonesian island steeped in culture and ceremonies, dances and temples, mountains and beaches, and a mere two-hour flight away, so it is an easy pick for the husband and I. We imbibe in some culture and we spend hours doing nothing but lie in a bale by the beach or the mountains.

Prior to the tragic Bali Bombings of 2002 and 2005, Bali was seen as a party place where the bir bintangs are cheerfully cheap. Australians who make up a fair number of the tourists that flock to Bali, suffered the most casualties in the tragedies. Since then the number of Aussie tourists have dropped. In an effort to coax them back, a group of tour operators in Bali have come up with a spoof of Australia's rather unique advert 'Where The Bloody Hell Are You?' made in support of the Australian tourism industry.

The spoof called 'Where The Bali Hell Are You?' features the familiar sight in the Balinese hotel industry of a local man in a white top and a sarong telling the Aussies that the, "Dutch are wearing your bloody thongs, the Germans are surfing in your bloody waves, the Italians are drinking your bloody beer...so where the Bali hell are you?" According to the article in The Jakarta Post Online by Australian born architect Michael White (who shows his love for the island by taking on the Balinese name of Made Wijaya), the spoof was co-produced by a local tour operator Ketut Swarmadyasa and Australian Brett Morgan and New Zealander Martin Hubbeling and the actors were made up of Australian surfers and local tour guides. Excellently done with tongue-in-cheek good intention and humour set in a boy's holiday, the Balinese and Australians show just how friendly they can be.

I'm there man, I'm there.

Zimmie In Singapore With Diamonds

One of the perks of working where I do is that I was able to bring beloved son for a day trip to Singapore on Sunday on the pretext to stock up on Bengawan Solo and he can get 'Raya shoes'. When I told him that we were going, Zimmie was ecstatic, presumably at the thought of having approximately 7 hours to zip around shopping complexes that are full of people (its Sunday, the entire Flipina community out on their well-deserved break) you have to plough through in order to buy those Pumas. He had a long ambitious shopping list so I jokingly suggested that he bring along a trolley-dolly bag like girlies should do when they are speed-shopping because it is not easy to carry 11 carrier bags in 2 hands while trying to find a size 10 on the racks, and upon finding such size, stand in the queue at the dressing room. Not to mention releasing from your gnarled, aching fingers the aforementioned 11 big plastic/paper bags around your legs at the Cashier in order to get your wallet out. I think speed-shopping should be considered an Extreme Sport. Ask your wife/girlfriend/sister/mom.

I was told by beloved son not to dilly-dally (apparently as I am proned to) when we arrive in Singapore. We should be first out of the gate and speed walk to the immigration counters. But sometimes life is cruel, so when there are very very important people onboard, like there was yesterday morning, the aircraft would head towards the furthest Bay to the Private Gates, where Jinn buang anak (where the Jinn throws away naughty children) as my grandmother would say, because it is a hell of a trek. Normally the aircraft will park at Gate 32, and thus a further gate means a longer trek to the Immigration counters at Arrivals, that was my point in case you missed it. But Zimmie took it in his stride and we walked extremely briskly to immigration.

Beloved Son: Errr...Ma? Where are we going?

Me: To the Musuem my son! To visit the CARTIER exhibition!
Beloved Son: Cartier?? Isn't that like, OLD?
Me: Yes.

Me: Ahhh, the Museum.
Beloved Son: Do you realise that we are like, rushing and we don't have like, TIME?

Me: Oh for heaven's sake, it's only for a few hours and you know that all the girls in school would be most impressed that you visited a bling exhibition *wink.
Beloved Son: Will you push around my trolley-dolly bag?
Me: Yes.


Beloved Son: Ma, take a picture of me in front of these cool fonts since we can't take any pictures inside.

Me: Look out for the security guards.
Beloved Son: Ma. DON'T. We don't have time to spend in jail.
Me: *click

The picture taken on the sly above is part of Cartier's early years. Clockwise from the top: Scarab Brooch (1925), Vanity Case (1925) and Vanity Case shaped like a sarcophagus (1927). These gorgeous pieces are made from gold, platinum, round old and single cut diamonds, rubies, emeralds, citrine, onyx cabochons (shaped and polished as opposed to facetted) and blue antique Egyptian faience (finely glazed ceramic beads). Because of the eagle-eyed security guard hovering around, I was only able to take one picture out of the many pieces that were displayed at the Art de Cartier exhibition, and fortunately, it was my favourite.

Jean Louis Cartier started his jewelry business way back in 1847 and over the years the company has become one of the world's greatest designer and manufacturer of jewely and objets d'art (which are then supplied to royalty, nobility and billioniares). The exhibition at the Singapore National Museum was fortunate to have 150 of pieces which are displayed to illustrate the historical development of technique and design styles of Cartier.

It was fairly crowded inside the hall, especially in a smaller room within the hall. This room contained the exhibition's star pieces. One of them was the Patiala Necklace. The other was a sword. Who knew Cartier did swords? But apparently they do. French poet and designer, Jean Cocteau, designed (and Cartier made) the sword in 1955 to showcase the emerald that Coco Chanel had given to him as a present. The sword is breathtaking up close and is beloved son's favourite piece. It was begging for a picture but the security guards hovered everywhere in this room, so I decided not to push our luck, especially since I almost tripped the alarm sensors breathing too close on the display glass. Revolution-Press.Com thus provides for this picture (and facts) of the Academician Sword, for which I am grateful.

The Patiala Necklace is without doubt the flashiest piece in the room. It contains 5 rows of substantial diamonds and the biggest and yellowest of them all in the center. The De Beers Yellow Diamond, at 234.65 carats, is the 7th largest diamond in the world. The Maharaja of Patiala bought the yellow diamond and in 1928 commissioned Cartier to design a ceremonial necklace using the diamond as a centerpiece. The necklace was lost after the Raj, but pieces of it were found (with the main diamonds missing) in London in 1998. Cartier bought and restored the necklace as best they could. Currently, the main diamonds, including the De Beers in the necklace on display are cubic zirconias. So we stood there and gawked for a few minutes at the Palatia Necklace when suddenly beloved son goes, "Now. THAT'S bling." And I gave myself a pat on the back.

The De Beers

After bonding over the blings at the Cartier Exhibition (we both didn't like the art-deco animal jewelry like the diamond encrusted snake choker, or crocodiles), we headed over to Orchard Road to imbibe another kind of culture, that of shopping.

Despite the odd look, the trolley-dolly was truly a blessing.

Bling Culture

I have been mulling about bringing beloved son to imbibe some culture at the National Museum of Singapore this weekend. More specifically, at the Art de Cartier exhibition.

Zimmie is a member of the MTV generation and to him a bling is what a big black african American rapper called Exhibit! would wear in a stud in one nostril. It would be nice, I think, that he also knows that the Nawanagar State Treasure, commissioned by the Maharaja Digvijaysinhji of Nawanagar, India from Cartier in 1937, contains 116 rubies from the Mogok Mines in Burma. And should most definitely be considered as bling.

An opportunity to bridge the generation divide, like the Cartier Exhibition a two-hour plane ride away in Singapore, does not come along very often. So I purchased our tickets for this Sunday morning flight and beloved son made a shopping list. I'm sure he wouldn't mind that we stop by the Museum enroute to Orchard Road.

Kampung Ayer & Inle Lake

Last Saturday evening we met up with some friends for H & N's farewell dinner at Portview. We got a lovely view of Kampung Ayer as we had coffee and desserts on the balcony upstairs. Our dear friends H & N and their daughter Imane will be leaving Brunei soon, and whilst the husband and I will miss their company dearly, I am just a touch envious at the thought of our friends living in a country that is steeped in history, culture, interesting politics, and plus those forum addicts at Fodors says that it's a great off-the-beaten-path destination for travelers.

Originally uploaded by Leanne Chan.

Take care friends, fare thee well and see you soon.

Love, The GoodEggs xx