The BIG Easy

Hi, y'all.  The lovely Chris and I have just returned from a trip to the Big Easy, aka New Orleans, so if I come over all Southern from time to time in this post, I hope you will forgive me.  I'm not sure how  many of you have been there, but it's quite some place, especially if you like to party.  This was Chris's first trip, and my second , although my first trip was more years ago than I care to remember.  In between, of course, there was Katrina, which devastated the city, but fortunately barely touched the French Quarter, the historic centre and tourist magnet of New Orleans, a part of which is pictured below.  There's so much to tell in this post, that I'm not quite sure where to start, so I'm going to go with some themes, the clue to the first of which is in the title.

My regular readers will know that I like to have some fun with the titles to my posts and the message in this one will be clear to anyone who has visited New Orleans, or probably any other

city in the U.S. recently.  This is America's "obesity problem" come to life.  Now I'm no skelf (my Scottish friends will know what I mean - the rest of you will have to Google it) and I spend much of my life in Singapore - where most of the women are a U.K. size 6 and I'm a 14 - feeling outsize,  but I felt positively petite in Nawlins.  It was especially noticeable in restaurants, and I'm talking about the waiting staff as well as the diners, but when you consider the food that's generally on offer, then it's not such a surprise.  One example: New Orleans is heaven for seafood lovers, even though the BP oil spill created a huge problem for the Louisiana fishermen, and while you can find oysters served raw, it's much easier to find them fried, largely because it's much easier to find everything fried.  Now, as a native of the land of the fried Mars Bar, you may be thinking pots and kettles, but trust me on this, New Orleans  could teach Glasgow a thing or two about turning its population into heart attacks just waiting to happen.  Consider the example below.

It took Chris and me just a couple of meals to realise that ordering only one course each was the way to have any chance of finishing what we had ordered; in some places, just one starter each was plenty, but this approach is not common in the Big E.  This is a photo that I took of the table next to us one evening.  Unfortunately, because I took it from above, you don't get the full impression of how high this tower of fried seafood is, but I'd say over a foot.  The people beside us had ordered one platter for a table of four and couldn't finish it, but some tables around seemed to be ordering one per person!  Scary.  New Orleans has a great reputation for food, and there are some specialities that are worth trying to experience the local Creole cuisine, which is a blend of many different influences.  Beignets are a sort of fried doughnut, very popular served with cafe au lait, Po'boys and Muffulettas are sandwiches, the former made with a baguette and feature  fried oysters, shrimp or crayfish.  Jambalaya is a sort of stew with seafood and rice and gumbo is a soup made with similar ingredients.  There is nothing light about this cuisine!

As we were taking the photo, we got chatting to the people at the next table – a couple from New Orleans and their friends who were visiting them from Australia - one of whom turned out to be the person who developed the concept of “apparent temperature”.  Now I’d never heard of this before, but I have experienced it, especially since moving to Singapore.  The apparent temperature is a “measure of relative discomfort due to combined heat and high humidity”.  The person who put this together is one R.G. Steadman (Bob to his friends), who is also the author of the wonderfully titled “The assessment of sultriness”.  Sadly, this turns out not to be about how to compute your own vamp rating, but it is worth a read nevertheless, particularly if you live in the tropics (or New Orleans).  Bob, if you read this, thank you for pointing me in the direction of your work.  You are a true gentleman.

So, moving on to my second theme, as well as eating, the other thing that is really noticeable about the New Orleans way of life is drinking.  In most cities in the U.S. it is against the law to drink outside, in New Orleans, it's positively the norm.  Most bars serve drinks (Margaritas and Daiquiris are especially popular) in big plastic takeaway cups and everywhere you go in the French Quarter you see people sipping away.  Since many of the bars are open 24/7, you see this a lot!

Of course New Orleans has other attractions, like some wonderful architecture, most of which was fortunately untouched by Katrina, the hurricane that wreaked havoc on the area just over 5 years ago. The tour we went on covered the lower 9th ward, the area of New Orleans that was worst affected by Katrina, as well as the architectural beauties of the French Quarter and the Garden District – and what a contrast.  While everything in the latter areas is ship shape and flourishing, much of the damage that was done to the lower 9th ward, which was absolutely devastated by the flooding, has not been rectified.  Houses with holes cut in the roof (to let the residents out when the emergency services came to rescue them) are slowly rotting where they stand; schools and hospitals remain boarded up; some shops have never re-opened. It’s sad to see. But there is good news as well.  At the time of Katrina, a number of celebrities pitched in, perhaps most famously Brad Pitt, who set up a charity to help build hurricane-safe, sustainable homes for working families in the lower 9th ward.  The charity is called Make it Right; have a look at their website – it’s inspiring.

Over the top

This is actually my second time of writing this piece, so apologies to those of you who await each new post with bated breath and who read this last week only to discover, when you went back for a re-read,  that it had disappeared ( I realise that this is a very small pool of people, in which probably only one person  - my sister - swims, but hey). It was the darnedest thing.  I'd written it, published it, then went back in to add something and the next thing I know I'd managed to make it disappear - text, photos and all.  Weird.  

So this is my second go at describing our over the top experience at the Marina Bay Sands hotel two weekends ago.  My regular readers will know that Chris and I went to the first of the integrated resorts on Sentosa shortly after it opened, and we we were mightily disappointed - hence the title of that post, "Casino banal".  We'd had our share of disappointment too on our first visit to the Marina Bay Sands hotel.  The Chinese restaurant there was the scene of the most expensive plate of rice in the world episode, which I wrote up in the "Baywatch" post - but this visit changed all that.

Spending the night in a hotel in our home city is not something we do very often; in fact, this is only the second time we've done it since we've been living here.  The first was on Valentine's Day this year, when Chris booked us into the aptly named Scarlet hotel for a night of romance.  On this occasion, a dear friend had given us a night at the hotel as a present, knowing how fascinated I am by the architecture (see picture) and how much I was looking forward to swimming  in the world's highest and longest infinity pool, more of which later.  Chris was already there when I arrived, lounging on the king size bed of our luxurious room on the the 42nd floor.  I have never been prone to vertigo, but I must admit to a slight nervousness when looking out of the floor to ceiling windows on this occasion.  That said, the views are absolutely stunning.  We had booked dinner in Santi, one of the "celebrity restaurants" but we wandered up to the skypark on the 56th floor (the boat shaped thingy that straddles the three hotel towers) for a pre-dinner drink and to take in the views of the city as darkness was falling.  It was quite magical.  If you are ever travelling to Singapore on business, or stopping over on the way to somewhere else, think about treating yourself to a night here.


We weren't sure what to expect from dinner at Santi.  The restaurant is the Singapore outpost of a Catalan restaurant run by a chef called Santi Santamaria, of whom I'd not heard previously.  The basic premise is "cocina de mercado", i.e.  "market cuisine,  whereby the menus revolve around what is good in the market on the day.  Now I can understand this approach in Barcelona, or any large European city, but given that Singapore has no agriculture to speak of, it does sound a bit strange (and by strange I think I probably mean pretentious) as an approach to cooking here.  However, the speciality of Santi is fish, and Singapore does,. in fact, have a fish market, which is something I didn't know before writing this post.   In any case, I needn't have worried.  The food was tremendous.  Of particular note (ironically, given our previous experience) was the dish called "seafood rice".  The simplicity of the description belies the complexity of the flavours and the downright deliciousness of the dish, which I won't even try to render here for fear of sounding pretentious myself.  It was scrummy!


As with almost all of the Singapore restaurants we have visited, the service was a let down.  When we arrived, a dozen waiting staff were milling around, looking as though they didn't know what they were really doing - which turned out to be pretty much the case.  Well intentioned, but lacking the organisation of the firm hand of a good maitre  d'.  We didn't mind the wait between courses, as it gave us the time to savour what we had just eaten as we anticipated the next event.  That said, if Singapore wants to take its place in the top echelons of the restaurant world, it's going have to do a whole lot better on the service front.


Delicious as dinner was, the highlight of the experience for me was definitely the next morning, when we made our way to the 56th floor to take in the rays and frolic in the infinity pool.  The photo gives a great sense of the views and the "infinity experience" but not the length of the pool, which takes up about two thirds of the skypark.  It was truly incredible.  Here's a haiku:


The top of the world
is a great place to visit.
Infinitely so.

Home and away

We have recently returned from 3 weeks' holiday in Southern France, where the sky was blue, the weather was hotter than Singapore for much of the time (although mercifully less humid) and we were graced with the company of good friends with whom we shared some fantastic food moments, as well as some very competitive Trivial Pursuit events.  My friend Kerry was kind enough to bring with her a big book of Trivial Pursuit questions and we had several mini tournaments during the few days she spent with us.  Principal among the food moments. was our visit to the Auberge du Vieux Puits in Fontjoncouse, which has recently been granted a third Michelin star.  Gilles Goujon (what a great name for a chef) works his magic in the kitchen - see picture below - in what must be one of the most bizarre locations for a 3 star restaurant.  Fontjoncouse is in the middle of nowhere, albeit very lovely nowhere, has a population of about 130 people and no other shops or restaurants that we could see on our pre-dinner walkabout. Furthermore there is no town within a thirty mile radius nor a motorway within twenty.  Considering there are only 26 three-star restaurants throughout the whole of France, this is a pretty amazing accomplishment, especially as most of them are not situated in a tiny village next door to absolutely nowhere.  We should really have done a walkabout  post-dinner as well, but we were just too full of the most delicious food and wine and we had booked to stay over in one of the lovely poolside rooms that have been added since our last visit.


The circumstances of that visit - six years ago now - are really quite odd and worth a moment or two in this post.  We were staying in a little hotel in Limoux and asked the owner for a restaurant recommendation.  She mentioned that she had heard good things about a little restaurant in Fontjoncouse, and so we tootled off for lunch that same day.  I can't remember whether we booked or not, we probably did give them a call as it was a fair way away,) but we had no problem getting a table.  It was only when we arrived (very casually dressed, with me on crutches post surgery on my foot) that we realised we were in the presence or 2 Michelin stars and some serious culinary greatness.  Fortunately we had brought the credit card, and we made good use of it.


This time, we went with two of our oldest friends, Sally and Bruce, and I think all of us would put this meal in our top five of best meals ever eaten.  There were three particular highlights for me - two of them quite tricksy in the Heston Blumenthal style - but rather more substantial than some of the Fat Duck offerings.  The first of these was the amuse-bouche we were served just after we sat down at the table.  It came in a knickerbocker glory glass, and looked just like a very colourful dessert. In reality, it was a sort of "tomato cocktail" consisting of several different types of tomato - red, green, yellow and black - interspersed with tomato and basil sorbet and tomato fondant.  It was beautiful to look at and tasted just as good as it looked.  We had reviewed the menu on the Internet before leaving and my friend Sally was sure that she would have nothing to do with the truffle based starter, which turned out to be the house speciality - "L'oeuf poule Carrus 'pourri' de truffes melanosporum sur une puree de champignons et truffe d’été, briochine tiède et cappuccino a boire", as she didn't like truffles, but she decided to go with it anyway, and was she glad she did!  Three out of the four of us has this dish, and it was truly amazing.  It consisted of a hen's egg, from which the yoke had been removed and replaced with a black truffle cream, served on a mushroom and truffle puree, accompanied by a miniature buttery and truffle-studded brioche and a little truffly cappuccino in a glass.   Had seconds been available, we would certainly have done an Oliver Twist and asked if we could please have some more.


The third PF (go on, work it out for yourselves or ask an Australian friend) was the fish course.  Bruce and I chose the red mullet, in which a super flavoursome fish soup was poured into a small ladle full of rouille (a garlicky, saffronny mayonnaise)  which then cascaded into a specially designed asymmetric bowl containing the red mullet set over a potato puree. The fish was yummy and the fish soup, combined with the rouille was intense, seductive and truly amazing.


I could probably have stopped there, but as there were three courses still to come, I didn't.  I moved on to guinea fowl served with crystallised shallots and pistachio ice cream, which I couldn't finish, cheese, which I did, and pudding, which I sampled and then passed on to my trencherman companion, Bruce to finish.  

Being in France for a fairly lengthy period made us ponder the main differences between our two "homes" - Singapore and France.  Apart from the very obvious ones like the price of wine and the fact that France has seasons, there are:

• the different fruit and vegetable offerings (while you can get most European produce in Singapore, it costs a small fortune, whereas fresh papaya and baby kailan  are nowhere to be seen in Limoux at any price)
• the relative blandness of French food compared with the spiciness of Asian cuisine 
• the landscape.  We live in a very rural part of France, with vineyards all around, and close to the Pyrenees, while Singapore has almost no agriculture and its highest point is Bukit Timah hill, which stands at a rather pathetic 537 ft. above sea level. 

But leaving these differences aside, perhaps the clearest difference is the approach to life.  Singaporeans are, generally speaking, fairly conforming and respectful of hierarchy.  The French have always seemed to me to be much more questioning and creative than many of the other Anglo Saxon nationalities and their respect for hierarchy can probably be judged by their willingness to cut off the heads  of any of the aristocracy they could lay their hands on a couple of hundred years or so ago.  As my great friend Steve would say, je reste ma valise.

Let them eat cake

A few weeks ago I was in Hong Kong for a couple of days, staying at the Mandarin Oriental - one of my favourite hotels in Asia - and found myself wandering past the cake shop.  As well as the normal fare, there were a number of demonstrations of the patissier's art exhibited in glass cases - like the one on the left.  Yes folks, that really is cake, the whole thing - the clown, the dogs, the ball.  I've never seen anything quite like it and I wanted to share it with you.  If one were to write a haiku about it, it would probably go something like this:


Would the peasants have
rebelled if they got to eat
this cake? Perhaps not.

Becks the builder

I find myself in the interesting position of having something that David Beckham wants.  Now that got your attention, didn't it?  The something in question is a completed model of the Taj Mahal in Lego, since, as it happens, I have one, while Becks' version is only half completed.  Mine was given to me by a  friend, who built it from scratch as a gift; Becks bought the kit in Milan, as he explained to fans during an online Yahoo interview.  He was asked what he would like to do if he wasn't a footballer and said "I know it's not a career but I love doing it and would like to be a professional Lego builder".  Apparently he bought his Taj Mahal kit in Milan, got halfway through (and it is a big, complicated job) and then got injured, so he never finished it.  It seems that since his interview, sales of that model have rocketed; I wonder if the people buying it will get any further than he did?  Here is a picture of mine, below, in case any of you feel inspired to get building.

Baywatch

I tend to live my social life in the bus lane rather than the fast lane, but last night was an exception.  My sister Ali - who is visiting from Oz and who provided the title for this post - accompanied us to Singapore's hottest new nightspot, the Lantern bar on the rooftop of its newest (and fabulously smart) hotel, the Fullerton Bay.

It was one of those perfect Singapore evenings - not too hot, a nice bit of breeze, some atmospheric, but not intrusive, Latino sounds and the most stunning views!  The picture to the left was taken from my iPhone and looks great on a small screen but loses some definition on the page, so you'll either have to take my word for the stunning nature of the views or come and see for yourself.  I've never been to a bar with a swimming pool, but this bar has everything.  I say everything, but if I were to be picky - actually I don't need to be, as Chris can be picky enough for both of us when he is in a grumpy mood (sorry, C) - the food was a bit disappointing.  Early days to be fair, as we were actually there on their first night of opening, but they had a very limited menu to start with, did not have several of the items available, and had not bothered to tell the staff.  That said, the food that we did manage to order was yummy.  Ali and I had a double order of lobster tacos - a miniature version of a normal taco, filled with lobster, spookily enough, in a yummy sauce - and would probably have eaten several more had we not decided to head out for dinner to Marina Bay Sands, the newest of Singapore's casinos, for a spot of dinner (see below for a view from our rooftop bar).  This is an amazing looking place, and opinion is most definitely divided between the lovers and the haters, but I'm a fan.  If you'd like to see a much better picture and get a real sense of the thing that looks like a ship on top of three tall buildings, then go to: http://www.marinabaysands.com/.

Those of you who follow the blog will know that we were not impressed with the first of the casinos to open earlier this year (see the post called "Casino Banal"), so we had no intention of even trying to go gambling this time, but we thought we might find a congenial restaurant for a spot of late supper.  The place is absolutely vast!  It is apparently the world's most expensive standalone casino  property and cost 8 billion Singapore dollars to build - almost 6 billion USD.  The complex includes a  2,560-room hotel as well as a plethora of luxury shopping experiences.  Of course, there is the casino, but there is also a huge convention centre and plans for a museum, theatres and floating pavilions. The three towers housing the complex are topped by a 340m-long SkyPark which includes an infinity pool.  The restaurants in (or should that be "on") the SkyPark are not yet open, so we found somewhere inside to eat instead. The meal deserves a haiku, not because of its overwhelming deliciousness, but because it featured what must be a contender for the world's most expensive plate of rice.  We had ordered the house speciality - crab-meat rice - and when it arrived, we thought they must have brought us the wrong thing, so lacking in evidence was the crab.  When we pointed this out to our waitress, she poked through the large plate of rice with some chopsticks and demonstrated the presence of several small flakes of crab-meat, thus proving us completely wrong.  


A simple supper
So we thought. Well, less is more
after all.  How true.














  

The day that the rains came down

Rain.  In Singapore. Not unheard of, you are thinking, and you would be right of course.  Singapore is pretty well set up for rain in fact, with storm drains all over the place and a number of big reservoirs to catch and keep the watery stuff.  So what happened last Wednesday to produce these pictures?



A flash flood, that's what, compounded by a blocked drain, apparently, resulting in complete havoc in parts of the city centre. Not only were the basement car parks flooded, but, as you can see from the photos, so were the streets. This photo shows the part of town near where we live - luckily, we are  on a bit of a hill, and on the 22nd floor, so no danger of getting the tootsies wet.  Apparently, almost 100 mm of rain fell within a two-hour period - more than half a month's worth, in the space of less than a morning.   


Spooky that it should happen once, but then it happened again this week.  First thing in the morning again (and I missed the whole thing, as I had gone in early to work). It was all quite dramatic, with fallen trees blocking roads and turning the morning commute into an obstacle course.  Singapore's water agency - the wonderfully named PUB -  recorded 100mm of rain in an hour this time, the same amount as the previous week, but in half the time.  I wasn't aware rain could fall that fast.

A woman on the edge

There is a Latin motto "Nemo me impune lacessit" which the Scots (a race to which I am proud to belong) have translated into "Wha dare meddle wi' me" and which this Scot, after the day that I have had, would render as something completely unprintable.

So why am I in such a bad mood, you ask, living as I do in permanent summer, in the land of the mango and the papaya (not that they grow here, but the shops are full of them), with the lovely Chris and the almost as lovely Lola, the best dog in the world?  Well, let's start with Bonkers Bank, shall we?  A bank of which I have been a "premier" customer for the last 20 years, and who now see fit to transfer me from pillar to post, in ever decreasing circles of competence, instead of responding to my legitimate request to transfer my money to another bank.  As requested, I sent them a letter making the request, then when they could not find that letter, I sent them another one.  When they could not find that, they asked me to fax them a copy of the letter, which I did, and to phone up afterwards to check that they had received the letter, which I did.  After all that, were they able to help me? Of course not, which is why I am in such a bad mood.  I feel like a character in a Kafka novel, going round in circles.  Will I ever see this money again, or am I doomed to make an endless round of phone calls to people whose idea of helping me is to give me a number to call and leave a  message after which someone will call me back within 3 hours? Don't you just love Service Level Agreements?

I know that I am sounding like my good friend Steve, whose blog you really should read, (http://blogfromthebarn.blogspot.com/) and who is prone to the occasional rant and/or fit of grumpiness, but my patience - to be fair, not a particularly strong suit of mine - has been tried beyond reason.  It really does bring home the reality of outsourcing core functions like customer service when the result is that both constructs - "customer" and "service" are washed away in a sea of learned helplessness.   I think a haiku is called for:

Loyal customer?
I don't think so, Bonkers Bank
Why? Because you're crap.

Who would have thought?

Who would have thought what, you ask?  At least I hope you do, as that means you continue to read and wonder at the exploits of Izinsing.  So what have I been up to recently?  Well, strangely enough, lawn bowls.  Having previously mastered the arts of croquet, petanque and boules - it appears that there is a difference between these last two, all to do  with the position of the feet, as it happens - it was time to acquire some grass stains on the lawn bowling green.  This turned out to be a bit tricky, since the green in question is not actually grass, but some fancy green (well, obviously) synthetic material.

Chris and I played at the Tanglin Club, which has an amazing green, situated on the roof of the  sports centre.  I'm not sure if you know much about bowling, (I didn't know anything at all) but the green is structured in "rinks" or playing strips, of which the Tanglin has either six or eight, depending whether they are set up east to west or north to south.  Chris and I turned up on the day of a match, so we were given some instruction by the lovely Roger, and left to ourselves to practice on the end rink, which we managed to do relatively successfully, only straying into the path of the players next to us a couple of times.  The game itself is relatively straightforward, but getting the hang of the bowl, which is designed to travel a curved path, takes a while.  There is the opportunity to practice in the week, which we haven't managed to do yet, but even if we do, I can't see us representing the club in competition any time soon.

Fish supper

When I say fish, I'm not talking about eating fish, I'm talking about fish eating me.  To be precise, I'm talking about a fish spa, which I tried out for the first time last Sunday.  At a fish spa, Doctor fish (species name Garra rufa) nibble away at the dead skin on your feet to leave them lovely and smooth.  Chris and I went along with a new friend, the lovely Ann Marie, a fellow Scot who has recently moved to Singapore. Both of us were fish spa virgins, as was Chris, who was a bit doubtful initially, but we all got into the spirit of the thing once we were there.  The thing about this particular fish spa that we were not expecting was the fact that there were three sizes of fish - little baby doctors (a ticklish nuzzle, quite pleasant once you got over the initial feeling of "What was I thinking?"), then mini doctors, more like a small electric shock, but in a good way, then the consultants, the big swinging dicks of the fish spa world, whose teeth you could feel as they gave your feet a seeing to, and who gave us a nip or two along the way.  Not unpleasant, but we were glad to have had the nuzzling and nibbling first.  The picture below shows the babies giving Ann Marie a ticklish introduction to the world of the piscatorial pedicure.

Each size of fish was in a separate tank, and when you had had enough of one, you moved on to the other.  The three of us stayed together and each time we moved on, Chris attracted the most fish, then me, then Ann Marie.  We couldn't work out why.  Very odd. Would I do it again?  I certainly would and I commend it to all of you who have never experienced it.  It gives a whole new meaning to the words "Fish Supper" (my Scottish friends will know what I mean).

It's a dog's life

A message from Lola

Iz's regular readers may have noticed that Chris contributed the last post, so I thought to myself, he's not the only one with views on our life here in Singapore, so why don't I have a go?  It wasn't hard to persuade Iz (I can wrap her round my little paw) and she very kindly agreed to help me with the typing, so sit back and enjoy this view from the ground - well, a foot or so off the ground if you want to be really picky.

One of the things I love best about Singapore is the smells.  OK, so I know I'm a dog and dogs have a great sense of smell, (which is just as well really, considering our eyesight is crap), but there is so much going on in the olfactory department in Singapore that it's an absolute paradise for us doggies.  There's the other dogs, for a start.  I live in a pretty smart apartment complex and there are lots of us here, although I am the only black and silver mini Schnauzer, as well as being the favourite of all the security guards.  Every time I'm taken out for a pee, I sniff round for one of the other doggies to play with.  I have some special friends, and I'd know their smell a mile away.  There's Benny, the little Maltese and Lucky, who's a lot bigger than I am, and Jasper, who is an absolutely HUGE golden Labrador, who lets me climb all over him while he just stands there - I think he's too old to run away. 

And then there are the food smells, of course.  You've probably heard that the two favourite pastimes of Singaporeans are shopping and eating, and while I can't tell you much about the first, as I've never actually been shopping, I get taken out to Lola friendly restaurants sometimes and even though I don't get to eat there (Iz is very strict about what she calls "people food") I can still enjoy the smells.  My favourite place is an Italian restaurant called La Braceria. It's one of Iz's favourites, and we go there quite often.  I get to sit outside and bark at the cats who live in the area - great fun!  I think Italian is probably my favourite sort of people food, although I am partial to smoked salmon and a bit of duck confit as well. 

Although I'm a ratter by breeding, opportunities here are limited.  I have been challenged to improve on the pathetic performance of President Obama's Portuguese Water Dog Bo, who seems happy to let the White House garden be colonised by publicity seeking rodents (see bottom right of picture on the left).  As any self-respecting mini Schnauzer will tell you, this is not a rat, it's almost certainly a shrew or vole.  I met one in the garden here a couple of days ago.  We looked each other in the eye, touched whiskers for a moment, then turned and went our separate ways.  We Schnauzers have our standards; a rat is one thing, a vole is quite another.

Casino Banal

This post is kindly contributed by Chris Kiddy (except for the bits I added).

The first of the two Singaporean casinos opened a couple of months ago and the next one is due to open shortly, although, according to the Today newspaper, it has not yet received its licence, just three days before the planned soft opening.

We visited the first of the casinos shortly after it opened, at Resorts World on the island of Sentosa.  It was actually our second visit, the first having occurred by accident when it was still being built and we took a wrong turning while heading for somewhere else on Sentosa and found ourselves in a vast, unlit, unsignposted cavern that turned out to be a huge underground car park for the resort.  This time, having parked in the now completed car park (much friendlier with lighting and signs, but still absolutely vast), we took a bus from our parking spot to the casino - yes really - and joined a heaving mass of people queuing to get in.  And I can't for the life of me work out why.

It was truly dreadful.  Of course, it was early days, and we haven't been back since, but the experience was definitely not so much Monte Carlo, more The Full Monty.  Once we'd braved the queues, we set out in search of a table - easier said than done.  There were, of course, tables, it was just that you couldn't get near them.  The punters were 3 or 4 deep at the tables that were open (many were closed) with a grimly determined look in their eye and no intention of creating a space for anyone else to join in.  The croupiers were still finding their feet and finding the going tough.  With what looked like fewer than half the tables open and the croupiers painfully slow as they struggled to prevent the gamblers from cheating, hardly anyone around the table was actually able to play.

The serried ranks of fruit machines were equally jealously guarded, not that I would have been tempted in any case - I'm a roulette girl.  So much, we thought, for our elegant evening out as we tootled off to have dinner.  Unfortunately, whereas the gambling area of the casino was absolutely heaving, the restaurants were virtually deserted and hence rather dismal.  We had a look at the hotels after dinner - a variety of offerings from the " plush ambiance and discreet exclusivity of Crockfords (an invitation-only, all-suite hotel, presumably for the serious gambler) to the "vibrant and cozy, yet contemporary and chic, Festive Hotel " not forgetting Hotel Michael, where the rooms are apparently like mini art galleries.

To be honest, the only thing we really enjoyed about the whole experience was the Dale Chihully gallery.  If you don't know his work, have a look at his website: http://www.chihuly.com/.  And so we left, after a couple of hours, weighed down by the unspent contents of our piggy banks.  How sad.  The only way I'd go back is if someone made me a member of Crockfords and I could hang out among the LBDs and tuxedos, sipping cold champagne out of long-stemmed crystal glasses and nibbling on caviar.  I've no idea whether that's what it's actually like, but I have my standards. 

A Lola moment

Those of you who are regular readers will know how besotted we are with Lola, our mini Schnauzer.  We have had her since last Chinese New Year and so we decided to buy her a New Year gift this year.  But what do you buy for a small dog who already has a wonderful life and, it must be said, relatively limited needs? A designer dog bowl, of course.  My sister and I had seen this on a previous shopping trip (the same day we found ourselves in a Japanese store called "Daiso" and confused  the staff completely by keeping asking for the price of things.  Nothing had a price label on it, for the very good reason that everything cost 2 dollars, as we discovered when we got to the checkout and the assistant just counted up the number of items in our basket and multiplied them by 2.  Before that point, however, we had been muttering darkly about the quality of the saucepans, as you do before you realise that the pan you have in your hand is the same price as a Mars Bar). 

You an tell from the picture that Lola's bowl did not come from the 2 dollar store - at least I hope you can.  If not, please email me your address so that I can send the designer police round to arrest you right away.  The bowl is from the Alessi store and, coincidentally, is called "Lula".  It was love at first sight - for the bowl and me.  Lola, on the other hand, was deeply suspicious and had to be persuaded to eat from it. She's fine with it now though, and it still makes my heart sing.

Scarlet woman

Dear readers

Gong Xi Fa Cai!  Those of you who have been following our adventures since we arrived in Singapore, may realise that this is our 3rd Chinese New Year (henceforth shortened to CNY in this post) here.   I find it hard to believe myself, but the fact that I dressed all in red yesterday and spent much of the morning giving out pairs of oranges in the office tells me that it must be so.  Mandarin oranges are everywhere at this time of year.  All public buildings and most private ones feature decorations that include beautiful displays of red and yellow flowers, and orange trees, like the one below.  These come in all sizes, and the big ones  (10 feet tall or thereabouts) are incredibly expensive. 

Oranges are a symbol of wealth, because of the colour,  and the shape symbolizes unity  and perfection.  The giving and receiving of oranges is a key part of the new year celebrations.  These last for 15 days, so you need a lot of fruit for a fortnight's worth. 

We are about to leave the Year of the Ox and enter the Year of the Tiger.  Now I really rather like the idea of being born in the Year of the Tiger - such a noble beast - beautiful, fast and stripey too.  What's not to like? But apparently some Chinese couples prefer not to have babies in Tiger years, which is a real concern for Singapore, which already has a worrying low birth rate.  In the last 3 Tiger years (1974,1986 and 1998 for the anoraks amongst you), the number of births dipped by 7%.  That's bad news, but there is even worse news for the poor tiger.  Because of the illicit trade in tiger meat (yes, you read right), it seems that the wild tiger may be extinct by the time the next year of the tiger comes round, in 2022. And it's not just the meat that is sought after - according to the Today newspaper "Tiger bone tonic wine has become a fashionable cocktail to serve among the nouveau riche in countries like China".  Remind me to insist on diet Pepsi the next time I'm partying in Shanghai.

This weekend also sees the opening of the first of the "integrated resorts"  - Resorts World on Sentosa.  The concept of the integrated resort was born when the notion of bringing casinos to Singapore (previously gambling free) was agreed.  The casinos are integrated into a complex of hotels, shopping and dining opportunities and, in the case of Resorts World, a Universal Studios theme park.  Entry is free for tourists and those who are not citizens or Permanent Residents, but Singaporeans and PRs have to pay 100 Singapore dollars per entry, or 2000 dollars for an annual pass.  More on this later, as we're planning a trip when things quieten down a bit. 

The first day of CNY this year falls on Valentine's day and Chris is taking me off to the Scarlet Hotel  - in Singapore - for the night.  I've never had a mini break (more of a micro break really) in the same city that I live in before, but the travelling bit should be easy, particularly since the roads are deserted on New Year's Day.  The hotel promises all manner of sensual delights in the "love to love you, baby" Valentine's experience, including "Lover's amenities" whatever they might be!  Watch this space, and read about the hotel yourself at http://www.thescarlethotel.com/

Let's rock

Actually, let's Ceroc.  Ceroc has come to Singapore and I am just back from the introductory workshop, run by the lovely (and extremely lithe) Katie.  Katie actually lives in Hong Kong,  but she is over here drumming up interest in this wonderful dance.  If you ever went to France and saw people dancing "le rock", then you know what Ceroc is.  If you have never experienced it before, allow me to explain. 

It is pretty much a fusion of jive and salsa, but probably quite a bit simpler than either and was invented in London  - fascinating fact coming up - by the grandson of the Scottish writer A J Cronin, the creator of the famous Dr Finlay!  Here is a clip of some aficionados in a shopping centre in the UK (don't ask), giving it some Ceroc welly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-P7Igr81DEg

The workshop in Singapore lasted for a couple of hours, and because Katie was in town over the weekend, I arranged for her to give me a private lesson.  She came round to the apartment on Sunday evening and I managed to solidify ( I think) the steps that I had learned the day before.  Since I appear to have been born with two left feet - but in my imagination I'm capable of winning Strictly Come Dancing - it could take some time to pick up a whole routine.......

Bombay and Burns

Just returned from four days in Bombay.  Interestingly, most of the people I met called it Bombay rather than Mumbai, which relates to the history of the place.  Apparently "Bombay" is the Portuguese for "good bay", the very bay that I was looking out on from my hotel window.  

The last time I was there was in 2008, before the terrorist attack, which had a profound effect on the city.  One of the lasting effects is the focus on security.  All hotel entrances have set up security details - cars and taxis are stopped and searched at the entrance from the road and bags are scanned and tagged on the way in. The same happened in the cinema I went to and seems to be true of the shopping malls also.  A sad reflection on an amazing city. 

I had the best time this trip.  People say that it's important to approach India with an open mind, and I saw the wisdom of that advice last week.  Of course there are things that shock the western eye, but there is so much that is glorious, colourful, ancient, modern and exciting about Bombay that it would be foolish to judge everything we see by the standards of what we are used to.  OK, sermon over.

One of the reasons I had such a great time was because of staying over to participate in the Bombay marathon.  Now don't fall off your chair, those of you who know me, I didn't run the marathon marathon, but what they call the "Dream Run", more of a dream walk, fortunately for me, since so many people participate in this 6km event, that running is well high impossible.  The weather was beautiful, the streets were a sea of blue and green (the race is sponsored by Standard Chartered and those are our company colours) and we were served Indian food for breakfast - truly one of my favourite things.  In fact, I was introduced to a new street food item at the marathon, something called a Frankie.  Frankies are the quintessential Bombay street food - a sort of Indian version of the wrap - and the finished article is sprinkled with a masala powder that is sort of hot and bitter and absolutely delicious. If you find yourself faced with a Frankie opportunity, grab it, I say. 

The Dream Run started at the main railway station, known pretty much universally as "VT",  for Victoria Terminus.  It was named after Queen Victoria and opened in 1887, her Golden Jubilee Year.  Its name now is Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, usually shortened to CST, but whenever I heard its name mentioned, it was always called VT.  Here is a picture of VT by night - the epitome of Victorian public architecture.

Before I went to India, Chris and I had planned our Burns Supper.  The Scots among my readers (and Steve, who has a Scottish soul) will know all about this, but for those of you who were not born with that advantage in life, let me explain.  Scots around celebrate the birth of our most famous poet on or around his birthday, January 25th.  That celebration takes the form of a fairly ritualised dinner, with prescribed food, speeches and readings.  The food include haggis, of course, with a vegetarian version of my national dish for me.  Having spent the morning on a nature trek in Pulau Ubin (more of which in subsequent post), I dashed home to spend the afternoon in the kitchen, cooking up neeps and tatties to go with the haggis, cullen skink (a rather yummy fish soup) and tipsy laird (a version of trifle, featuring raspberries and, of course, whisky).

We had a great evening, and the haggis proved a great hit with our guests (I never touch the stuff myself).  The poetry readings proved a teensy bit challenging for everyone whose first language was not 18th century Scots.  I wonder why?  Here's a taste for you to get your tongue round, from the address to the haggis:

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,

Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm

What could be easier?

On the rocks

As my regular readers will know, I seek to provide entertaining titles for my posts, and this one is no exception.  It relates to our recent trip to the Banyan Tree at Bintan, for Chris's birthday.  I have always thought it was very inconsiderate of him to be born in the middle of December, too close to Christmas to enable imaginative gift giving, and also too cold to do really interesting things in the middle of a northern hemisphere winter.  The first point still applies, but living this close to the equator means that the weather is not a deterrent to fun stuff at this time of year.  In fact, I now tend to try to give experiences as birthday presents, rather than "things" and this year, I think I really cracked it.  I took him off to the Banyan Tree resort on the Indonesian island of Bintan, in the South China Sea, and is just an hour away from Singapore by sea.  Have a wee look here:

http://www.banyantree.com/bintan/


The highlight of the trip was dinner on the rocks - literally.  If you log on to the website and look at section 13 of the brochure, you will see what it looks like.  We did take some photos on the evening, but they are close-ups and so don't really give a sense of the experience.  It was fairly breezy the evening we were there, and by the time dessert arrived the waves were starting to lick at our ankles - a nice extra frisson at the end of the evening.