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.

The magic of the silver screen

Unusually, I am going to start this post with a movie review - of Avatar - which we went to see at the weekend.  My sister is visiting from Australia, and she and Chris were keen to see it.  Personally, I was a bit ho-hum at the prospect, but I am now a complete convert and will be buying the DVD as soon as it becomes available. 

So, Haiku first (composed by sis and self in the back of a taxi on the way to one of our (many) shopping expeditions over the last few days):

Epic tail of man's
short-sightedness.  Out of love,
balance is restored.

And no, that's not a spelling mistake in the first line.

So what did we love about this movie?  The list is long.  First off, it's really beautiful to look at.  Not the parts where the gunships set off on their mission of destruction (definite homage to Apocalypse Now, with shades of Robert Duvall launching an attack on the Viet Cong to the tune of Ride of the Valkyrie), but the scenes in the forest, the colours, the Navi people - especially the lovely Neytiri -  and of course, the special effects.  The story struck a chord too, and  the director managed to stay just on the right side of didactic, so it's a big thumbs up from us.