Went to the National Day Reception today. Most of the Sporeans I know in NY, I know from this annual event. Most of these Sporeans, I also only meet once a year at this event. There’s a group of us that live in Carroll Gardens/Park Slope that I meet up with a little more frequently, but otherwise this would be the equivalent of the annual reunion.

This in a way was my reintroduction into society. For the last 2 months I’ve been living the life of a hermit. Eating in, saving money, laying low while looking for a job. Then comes this social, where there are so many people to catch up with, engagements and summer vacations and new babies and new people in town. I have so much to share on my part as well, with the trip home and the new job. There was a moment when I was talking with P and my head started to swim a little, just from the overstimulation of being with people again.

I feel it a little at the workplace also, though at the office the effort is in learning to gauge the dynamics of a new group. The skill of being social takes a little time to come back. Occasionally I find myself mentally vetting whether or not a particular anecdote is appropriate to share, whether it will be taken in the right way, or whether it will fall flat because I’m still the “new girl” with an unclassified personality.

It was a good night out though. I didn’t meet as many new people this year, because there was just too much to say to the old. I didn’t get a chance to talk to everyone I knew either, there were too many people coming and going.

Next year then.

A slight lull in posts, but the boy’s parents are here, and the past week and a half has been a flurry of bringing them around NY. This may be a good time to talk about how badly my Chinese has deteriorated.

It was never good to begin with, I scraped by in primary school, secondary school and JC by memorising textbook phrases. My brother and I are the only kindergarteners I know of that had Chinese tuition classes.

At present, I can speak enough Chinese to make small talk, but spending so many days with Chinese-speaking folk has forced me to face up to the fact that I really only have a repertoire of several phrases that I’m comfortable with, and I cycle through them pretty quickly. On occasions that require the crafting of actual sentences, my mind crowds with too many words, and it all comes out in a jumble, half of which does not really make sense, but I just blurt them out because it’s a gamble either way.

I’ve sort of gotten over the fact that my accent is far from perfect. Chinese (or Mandarin, if you want to be particular) is not my native tongue, English is. And through meeting a variety of people for whom English is a second, or third language, I’m finding that people in general are very forgiving of accents. Which makes me slightly annoyed that for 12 years, teachers made me feel self conscious by telling me that I sound like an English-speaking person speaking Chinese. For one, duh! face the facts, what else would I sound like. Two, I don’t recall classmates being told in English class that they sound like a Chinese-speaking person speaking English, or told to disguise their Singlish accents.

We recently watched yao2 a yao2 dao4 wai4 po2 qiao2 (that’s me showing off that I know the Chinese title to Shanghai Triad) on DVD, and the boy raised an eyebrow when I requested English subtitles. But no one in my family or extended family speaks Chinese. I speak to friends in English. Chinese was always an academic subject for me, confined to the classroom. So to some degree I’m amazed I can bumble through it at all.

When jobhunting I had a short correspondence with a firm that was looking for bilingual architects (not that I would claim to be bilingual, they only slipped that request in halfway through our conversation). This sparked off a short-lived, anxiety-driven reading of Chinese articles and prose. I can’t imagine writing the sentences myself, but I could understand it reasonably. For which I hope that after sufficient exposure, perhaps through the Chinese Cookbook Method, some of it will take root.

My second cousin from Vancouver is doing a semester abroad at NUS and my dad had me email him recommendations from my trip as he plans his own travels for reading break. That reminded me that I had left you guys in Siem Reap…

The journey from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh was so eventful that it deserves an entry on its own.

We decided to take a boat rather than a bus to Phnom Penh, despite the boat ticket being slightly more expensive. 6 hours on a boat sounded more tolerable than 6 hours on a bus, even if we had to wake up at 5am to catch the daily 7am boat. It would be a more interesting mode of transport, with several floating villages marked out enroute.

The day started out on the wrong foot when the circuit in our room shorted. This at 5am, in Cambodia, where street lights are few and it is pitch dark outside. We ended up dressing and packing by the light of my handphone.

A little minivan picks us up from the hotel, and proceeds to drive in circles all around Siem Reap, picking up more passengers. I’m guessing that the order of pickup is the order in which the tickets were bought, since we backtrack more than a few times to different hotels. The minivan is packed to the gills even before we start heading towards the lake, our luggages strapped precariously to the roof, ourselves packed tighter than sardines within.

We get to the lake and a local snatches up our luggage and resolutely starts marching the 15 paces to one of two sampans that will take us out to the main boat. We have no choice but to follow him. He’s a smart guy, that one, placing our bags in the sampan and immediately holds out his hand for a tip. (I don’t remember exactly now, but he might have demanded $2, one for each bag)

Once everyone is settled, the 2 sampans start heading out towards deeper water. Only problem is that our boat has trouble steering. The steering mechanism is already held together by lashings of rope and raffia, and is literally at the end of its tether. The boatman employs the very sophisticated method of using his flip-flop to stabilise one of the pulleys, and somehow after 15 minutes and the 23rd attempt, it seems to work.

The main boat is surprisingly nice. It is spacious and there are cushioned seats within, though the European tourists typically head to the open deck to commence tanning. We do see some houseboats, lots of rice fields, kids playing along the banks and some water buffalo.

But, 2 hours into our already delayed 6 hour trip, the boat inexplicably comes to a stop and a little rowboat aligns itself to us. The two boatmen start conversing languidly in Khmer. Everyone just stands around in confusion. No instructions are given, it seems that they’re just waiting for people to get the idea that we should grab our luggage and transfer over to the rowboat. This takes a while, as based on our collective experience, I don’t think anyone would have been surprised if the boat had stopped just so the 2 boatmen could catch up and talk shop, before continuing on.

But eventually everyone decides to take the leap of faith and get onto the rowboat, with no idea what’s going on or where we’re headed. The rowboat takes us to the riverbank, where a pickup truck awaits and we are encouraged to put our luggage into it. The boy and I are already weirded out by the situation, and we view the truck with much suspicion as we hang on to our backpacks. Sure enough the pickup soon drives off with everyone else’s luggage, leaving us there by the riverbank, clueless as to what is going on.

After about 10 minutes, a small bus rumbles into view. We all get onto the bus. It is pieced together that we will continue the rest of the journey by bus as the water level of the lake is too low for boats, it being the dry season.

The bus breaks down a mere 20 minutes into the ride. It takes the driver about 30 minutes of clanging around the engine with a giant spanner, enough time for one of the European tourists to get a haircut at the local barber. Except for that piece of entertainment, it is an excruciatingly hot and humid 30 minutes.

The bus breaks down again another 10 minutes later. We’re able to get going soon but not for long, we break down again mere paces down the street. The novelty of travelling in a broken bus is wearing thin. And when we break down again for the 4th time, the driver calls it quits and soon a sleek monster of a Korean tour bus comes to our rescue and drives us the rest of the way to Phnom Penh in 1.5 hours.

All in all, it took us 10 hours to get to Phnom Penh from Siem Reap. And we still ended up taking the bus. Gaah.

…and not the sketchy outlet with bad ventilation that it has become in America.

Via New York Magazine.

MacDonalds UK maintains a website providing customer information on the company’s business, health and food safety practices, somewhat defiantly titled Make Up Your Own Mind. There are pictures of the farms that MacDonalds sources their ingredients from, interviews with staff at all levels of the food chain, and of course a “your questions answered” page.

There are close to 6000 answered questions posted on the site, and they run the gamut of “how do I get a job at macdonalds” to “how many calories in a mcflurry” to “is it true someone shat in the milkshake vat”. It’s pretty obvious that there is a list of approved, politically correct answers, like “if McDonald’s receives any allegations about bodily fluids in food these claims are fully investigated. The rumours and stories about this sort of behaviour have never been found to be factual and McDonald’s food contains nothing that should make a normal, healthy person ill or feel sick in any way.”

And then there are the creative ones that crop up occasionally. Some of my favourites below:

A friend of mine lost a bet, where she has to eat in a restaurant in her bikini. I choose Mcdonald’s. Before we go, I want to make sure, she will not be asked to leave, will she?
McDonald’s is a family restaurant where its food is intended to be enjoyed by everyone and does not feel it would be appropriate to wear a bikini in one of the Company’s restaurants, although there is no specific dress code. It will be down to the Restaurant Manager whether to allow your friend into the restaurant or not.

Is it true that Ronald Macdonald is a Totenham fan? If so, why is he always so happy?
Thanks for your question but no, this is not true. Ronald McDonald does love football, but he is a supporter of the game in general and does not have one particular team he follows. Happily, that means he usually has something to smile about, even if Tottenham are having a bad day.

Does Hamburgler have an actual criminal record?
No. The Hamburglar is a fictional character who lives in McDonaldland therefore he doesn’t commit real offences.

yeah, I noticed you have a Pirate for a mascot, well as a law defending ninja, I take offense to this, in fact I REFUSE to eat your food, until you make the mascot “McNinja”. Dont you know that Ninjas are superior to pirates in every way?
McDonald’s is disappointed that you refuse to eat its food, although the company does not have a Pirate mascot. Ronald McDonald is the Company mascot, acting as the chief happiness officer and has been the face of McDonald’s since 1963. He is one of the most recognised characters in the world, and McDonald’s hopes that this will carry on for a long time to come. He is all about having fun and is not involved with pirates or ninjas in any way and therefore should not offend your Ninja heritage.

Can i haz cheezburger?
Cheeseburgers are available at all McDonald’s restaurants.

I sent an email to Red Sox J enthusing about the new job, but I don’t think he wants to hear it. Not while he works at my old office, the same one I outgrew not too long ago.

I realise my expectations of work life has been seriously messed with by my previous workplaces. Right now, every little thing makes me so happy. I am using AutoCAD. I can xref files. Everyone gets lunch together here, and everyone eats together at the conference table. We have office meetings. There is food at office meetings. I am in love with my boss, just because she’s sitting at her desk, available for conference and conversation. Today, M made an announcement over the intercom inviting us all to take a break over video highlights of the Olympics at A’s computer.

Ok, I hate the chair I sit on, and the guy that used the computer before me had some weird settings that took me 2 days of googling to change. But that’s all the negative things I have to say. Perhaps more reality checks will crop up over the next few days, but for now, I’m speechless with pleasure.

Seeing as to how I’ve spent most of this morning and yesterday reading this:

http://www.drearyweary.com/stories.php

LOVE the Resident Tourist series. The New York and Singapore references are…quite perfect.

I realise that I never wrote a post about our travels during our sabbatical. Some of you may already have heard bits and pieces of the trip, but take this as the extended, detailed version.

We started our trip in Siem Reap, Cambodia. X and A joined us on this leg of our trip. We were there for 4 days before continuing to Phnom Penh.

First impression of course was at the airport. Siem Reap has a bloody nice airport. It’s small, but new and comfortably air-conditioned without being too stuffy or too cold. Natural light floods the immigration hall and baggage claim, streaming in through floor to ceiling glass panels, outside of which is a reflecting pool with lots of grass and greenery. The material palatte is mostly natural, with exposed wood rafters, exposed concrete panels for the immigration cubicles (none of that yucky plastic nonsense), and grey stone floors. I bring this up now because I have several airport observations over the course of the trip.

Everyone going to Siem Reap is of course headed there to look at the temples. Major understatement, but they are really beautiful. Photographs can’t capture the full scale and majesty of these sites. The site of Angkor Wat is 1.2km wide and another 1km deep. It’s amazing what people were able to do in the 11th century, with a few hundred thousand slaves and some elephants. Besides Angkor Wat, we also visited Ta Phrom, Baphuon and Bayon. Our guide also brought us to a few minor sites, but I can’t remember the names. Honestly, there are only so many temples one can take it before it all starts to blend into one another.

Ta Phrom stands out in my mind, but not because Tomb Raider 2 was filmed there. The trees are the very reason that the site is so compelling, the same trees that are taking over the site and tear the stone temple apart. The erosion and ruin make up the romance of these temples, but at the same time it left me with a sense of despair. Kudos to the French, Indians, Japanese and other nations for taking leadership in restoring some of these temples, but honestly it’s all downhill from here. Fighting the ravages of time will be a longer and harder battle than the ones depicted in the various bas reliefs in the temples themselves.

The story of Baphuon is also particularly tragic. The temple was carefully dismantled for restoration efforts in the 1960s, but was interrupted by the rise of the Khmer Rouge. The guerillas destroyed plans and diagrams for the project, leaving archeologists with a big mound of rock when they came back to the site 30 years later. They’ve made amazing progress however, despite having little documentation to go off of, the project is estimated to be done in about 2 years. More on the Khmer Rouge when we get to Phnom Penh.

The city itself is based on tourism. The entire economy is based on foreign people and the money they bring with them. There is no distinction between weekdays or weekends, every day is just a day for catering to tourists. It’s very easy to lose track of time as you wander around the temples, literally. Almost every restaurant in town is a “tourist trap”, each claiming traditional Khmer food, or even better, Angelina Jolie’s endorsement. We also saw more than a handful of Korean hotels and restaurants, and our guide said they cater exclusively to Korean tour groups, Koreans being the most numerous of their visitors.

Besides the temples, the boy and I did some exploring in the city itself. Our hotel was a little bit upstream of the city center, and we were near a small local settlement of some sort. It was refreshing to see some “real” Cambodian life, as opposed to the touristy city center.

Chess game on the left, a local barbershop on the right. A toddler is getting a haircut and he is making his unhappiness heard.

All the houses have their backs facing the river. We were there during the dry season, hence the relative low level of the water. More on low water levels in the next post…

As we were walking around the village, we were of course taking pictures. Life is so simple here that there isn’t even a whisper of a thought in the locals’ minds of “the right to not be photographed”. In the village and also at the temples, they would smile shyly as we aimed our cameras, or at best stare curiously back. The children would sometimes ham it up for the photograph even, turning on their smiles and posing. No one got angry that we were taking pictures, or hid their faces from view.

So with these memories of simple village life and ancient temples, we part ways with X and A; they return back to Singapore, the boy and I travel on to Phnom Penh…

We *finally* had dinner at al di la, the restaurant near our apartment that reputedly has the best Italian food in NYC. You know what they say, um, 5th time’s the charm. The boy and I have griped about and postulated all kinds of reasons why they do not take reservations, to no resolution.

We got there at 5.30pm, still remembering that cold, rainy February evening when we got there at 6 and the line was slowly snaking out the door. This time around, there was only a little old man there, hawkishly guarding his spot at the door. When they opened their doors at 6, there was a sprinkling of 10 of us waiting in a random fashion on the sidewalk. Not as insane as we had imagined. Given our own 4 failed attempts, and New York Magazine’s description of the “perpetually mobbed restaurant” where you needed to “fight your way through the door”, we were definitely expecting the worst. It definitely got more crowded around 7, which is pretty impressive for a Brooklyn restaurant on a mid-week Wednesday.

We shared a grilled octopus and chickpea salad, the boy had the braised rabbit entree and I had the swiss chard gnocchi. Dessert was 3 scoops of gelati/sorbet: fennel, fig and ricotta, rubharb and prosecco. I really liked my gnocchi. It came with brown butter, sage and parmesan drizzled and sprinkled over, and I liked how different flavours came alive with each mouthful. The rabbit was good too. We don’t usually like Italian entrees, because they tend to be drowned in gravy or tomato paste, but the rabbit was nicely seasoned and browned. I wasn’t a fan of the polenta it came with, however. I’m still finding my way with polenta, cous cous and cornmeal menu items.

I am a big fan of unusual ice cream flavours, so the dessert was my education. I started making bread because I wanted to be able to make my own raisin bread or herb bread with my own selection of herbs, and the same reasoning went into the purchase of my ice cream maker. The basil ice cream from il Laboratorio started this off, and it has resulted in my own experimentation with pandan ice cream and chrysanthemum tea ice cream, the 2 quirkier flavours to date. The fennel ice cream tonight was *really* good. The other two were ok, but the aroma of the herb really hits you unexpectedly as you spoon it up, making it a richer sensation.

Was it a good dinner? Absolutely. The price was modest too, which was a plus. Would I go back? Yes, I’d want to try some of their other dishes, like the hangar steak or the cuttlefish with inky pasta. At the same time, I don’t think I could spare the time to go there early on a weekday to actually score a table and not have to wait for 2 hours. It might be more trouble than it’s worth.

So you might have gotten the hint a few posts ago that I won’t be gainfully unemployed for much longer. I accepted a job offer on Wednesday, and my first day will be this coming Friday.

I know, I thought it was kind of odd too, starting just before the weekend. The idea is mainly to get all the starting out paperwork like insurance and payroll out of the way before jumping in on Monday, so it kind of makes sense.

It’s a countdown of last-chance activities now.
Thursday: Alvin Ailey’s free performance in the park
Friday: IKEA day, went with the boy to get more shelves for the apartment
Saturday: competition meeting with Yankees J and L. We have this every week actually
Sunday: the usual, dance class then Chinatown grocery shopping
Monday: dinner at al di la, supposedly the best Italian food in the city, but they only serve dinner and they don’t take reservations. The line to get in starts when they open their door at 5.30pm. More on this soon.
Tuesday: free admission Tuesdays at Brooklyn Botanic Gardens.
Wednesday: Alice’s Teacup. Scone, 6-cup pot of tea, A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History.
Thursday: SHAKE SHACK!
Friday: Back in Tribeca. Red Sox J, Yankees J, engaged D and eeyore D will be pleased to know we can continue having our infrequent lunchdates.

Ah, China. Inventor of paper and gunpowder, and now frontrunner for Olympic gold medals. (Poor Spore, by the way. National Day Parade completely overshadowed by the glitz of the Olympics. I have to say, Herzog and de Meuron’s bird’s nest stadium looks great in all the photos)

You’d think with all those achievements the Chinese could invent better packaging for bee hoon noodles (otherwise known as rice vermicelli), so that the pack of 4 servings doesn’t scatter bits of broken noodle all over the kitchen floor when you’re trying to extract enough noodles for a 2 person meal. They obviously figured it out with all the other noodles, what’s stopping them from fixing this one?