street finds: one riyal Tweet

Alright, it's not like striking oil, but it's neither like finding pounds, euros, and dollars. And while not as shiny as most street finds so far, it certainly counts as the most exotic.

one riyal, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

tired of my babies? here goes the neighborhood Tweet

In my walks around the neighborhood these days, some really sweet blooms caught my eye. They also seem to have caught some rain, but don't let that stop you from inhaling a healthy, colorful dose of London spring by way of amateur gardening.

Created with flickr slideshow.

spotted, and tried: the seven stars, 53 carey street, london Tweet

I had been to The Seven Stars pub before, though it seems ages ago. Part of the problem is that we seem to reach Roxy Beaujolais's other establishment more often, The Bountiful Cow. Both places serve lovely beer and delicious food, without any claim at being some trendy, dreaded gastropub. Tonight I couldn't stop eating these delicious linguine with mushrooms and truffle oil, possibly because there were no three-drops-of-truffle-oil sprinkled carefully on the top (as most restaurants would have it), but a strong suggestion that the pasta had been tossed with a generous serving of it.

linguine with mushrooms and truffle oil, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

People came and went, rising a pint (of the many original options) to Monica and Nico for becoming British citizens, and while stories of terrible Chilean earthquakes and shooting a drug documentary in Afghanistan kept me starry eyed, I could not say no to the resident tomcat once it made its appearance (Roxy always has cats around, as far as I can tell). Sorry I didn't catch its name. Not sorry I didn't catch its claws—according to the Frank Sinatra lookalike bartender, the cat was a) angry that patrons were leaving and b) disliking cameras incredibly. Same bartender struck a conversation just like that, in the telltale old school manner presumed of bartenders: could I believe the incredible photo he had seen the other day? Frank Sinatra on John Wayne's veranda, while the latter tended to his bonsai trees. Need more reasons to spend a great evening at The Seven Stars?

black cat, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

one has to have a certain age... Tweet

...to see a Pretty Woman by a Dirty Dancing poster and smile back at one's younger version.

dirty dancing, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

whether naughty or nice, better hope you're on our easter list Tweet

I've spent half of my priceless Sunday on this gorgeous wrapping, and the insides are even sexier.

Easter gifts, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

it's absolutely true because I read it in the daily mail Tweet

My morning began with Dan & Dan's song about the Daily Mail (readers?!), a breakfast show-worthy anthem that reminded me of all years lost in radio and TV in hope of making people laugh, and then think (preferably in that order, yes). About The Daily Mail Song [mp3 here], the authors noted: Hello everyone. Me & Dan have written a song about The Daily Mail (a British newspaper). We're aware this video won't mean an awful lot if you've never heard of The Daily Mail, but on the plus side, you've never heard of The Daily Mail. I've watched some more of their comedy pieces over breakfast, but nothing seemed to reach these heights. And then I lingered over The Onion in a desperate attempt to recover the long teeth I had in my youth about this and that, as well as the excitement of a new day of mischief barely starting. But don't let me keep you from hitting play.

chez adrideo: purple is the new potato Tweet

Purple broccoli sprouts are no longer a rarity in my life, and neither is having them steamed with a generous spray of olive oil and finely chopped garlic. But purple potatoes? Chris, whose grandpa and dad ran a potato business back in the days, picked these up at the farmers' market, upon seller's advice that they are THE best for roasting. And perfect roast potatoes beat any type of broccoli in my book. Did the purple sort take the biscuit? Not for staying purple after roasting (dammit!). Alright, the end result was endlessly tasty, yet I believe most of the glory stays with the chef rather than Mother Nature. Or purple, for that matter.

purple veggies, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

chambre hardman and the lost city of liverpool Tweet

I learned about Chambre Hardman, his love affair with Margaret Mills, and this documentary from The Online Photographer's post A Photographic Love Story, not long ago shared on Google Reader. Today I finally made time to see the film, and I wasn't disappointed. If you have half an hour to spare, start with the video below, and follow the top recommendation at its end to continue to parts 2 and 3. You'll learn about an odd and sweet couple, their amazing collection of prints, and the rise and fall of Liverpool, all beautifully narrated by the inimitable John Peel, photographed himself by Hardman, as a child.

chez gorgeoux: my mother's fries Tweet

I grew up with the best fries in the world. The smell alone could wake me up from the dead, and should I be served only this simple dish three times a day for the rest of my life, taste buds would stay quiet, stroking their tummies forever. Mujdei doesn't hurt either, and it's even simpler, if not pure peasant food: pressed/ crushed garlic with salt and water. True that I pimp it up when serving to guests, by adding tomato in the summer and sour cream in the winter, but then again, the English have yet to grow a taste for garlic (which, at best, is seen as a French peculiarity best consumed in its own land).

But trying to cook my mother's fries, that I haven't dared until this morning, not even once in thirty three years. Excuses are many: there was never a perfect cast iron dish, she cooks them in sunflower oil and I'm happy with olive oil, thank you (they would taste different, by all means), and what to say about having a personal chef ready to cook most of one's culinary dreams, and beyond? Well, nothing much anymore, because the first thing I could think of this morning was making my mother's fries. Because I had dreamed about making them the night before, and it seemed as easy as sleepwalking.

Said and done, without much thought or consideration, everything thrown together leisurely, over a strong and lazy Vietnamese coffee, and consumed with incredible gusto by both yours truly and her personal chef. Were they as good as my mom's? I guess we won't know until I make some for her from scratch in my own house. But if awesome crispiness paired with even more awesome softness and sweetness mean fries to you, this is what I accomplished, and why I'm still rubbing my tummy with a grin. I'll try very hard to let a couple of days go before I repeat the act. Too much of a good thing is my middle name.

fried potatoes with mujdei, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

forget alarm clocks, radios, and phones: palm sunday does it Tweet

I woke up in a daze, stumbled to the lounge, picked up the camera, and shot away. I was as blind as a newborn kitten at that point, so I'm surprised I've got anything to show you at all. Palm Sunday has never been this loud and solemn in Romania (where, at least in the South, we know and keep it as Flowers Sunday, in an approximate translation, and employing delicate willow branches, if anything), and, for the same reason, I'm not even sure that the majority of London has any idea of its existence. Either I live on a VIS (very important street) or I'm a magnet for the exotic offerings of the city. Regardless, I pray that I find a spare moment to discover last year's video (yes, this has happened before) so that you hear what works for me much much better than an alarm. It will be anything but what you imagine and, to anyone who's ever gotten berated and beaten for trying to part me with my pillow, puzzling.

palm Sunday, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Perhaps I couldn't find the video because... it was never posted? Fixed! Better a year later than never. What are you waiting for? Go hear that strange, obsessive song already!

fun lovin' criminals live at all star lanes, london Tweet

Want to see Fun Lovin' Criminals? said Chris late this afternoon. Might as well, said I, thinking we're talking weeks, if not months in advance. Turned out All Star Lanes in Bloomsbury, generally spamming us with useless offers, insisted in the last email that we could see the end of the Fun Lovin' Criminals' European tour for Classic Fantastic (amazon.co.uk, amazon.com), the new album—after a five year hiatus and, likely, no new Tarantino fame. Regardless, we grew up with these guys, in our radio and club DJ nights back in the day, so what the heck! Tickets were still available online (WTF?), we were within walking distance, easily said and done. With two-three opening acts (come again?), we took our time, bought the album, listened to it a couple of times, had dinner, walked across sometime past 10PM, waited patiently at the bar, bought four beers instead of two, and made a vague attempt to reach the stage area until the twenty-somethings jumped hard on us. No biggie! Casually went outside in the yard/ smoking area, one meter away from the band at their backstage door, took some photos, lit a cigarette as they went straight onto the stage, and jumped around yelling and shaking our money makers for the remaining of the evening. We had better space, better sound, and better views than anyone else—except the manager, perhaps, and, BTW, eat your sour heart out, VIP area! So. Thirty-something fun? No sweat, just groovin'. Growing up rocks! Especially when Mister Sun is the new Scooby Snacks.



Later update: there are a few photos, too, though either my camera or I need to get much better at low light shots. Either way, it's not everyday that you find yourself so close to Americans unknown back home, yet rather famous over here—for which reason, no surprise, they've all relocated to London. In these images you'll see a lot of All Star Lanes (very cool space for a former underground hotel car park), a bit of Fun Lovin' Criminals, and a lot of Brian Fast Fisty Leiser, probably because he's been busy smoking before and after the gig, thus last out, and first out, too. You might also note the Don Draper bar at the All Star Lanes, though it's a rather sad sight in its smallness and nakedness. Is there any depiction of diners or bowling in Mad Men?!


Created with flickr slideshow.

ho chi min/ sai gon to cam ranh, viet nam Tweet

Looking down at random intervals from my window seat in business class (an inexpensive, welcome upgrade), I saw a landscape I knew. Green hills, miniature villages, large rivers. No rice fields, no estuaries, no towns. And then, for a brief moment, this. What was it? And what for? I'll never know, but I did feel awarded a gorgeous, if classical type of manmade landscape that anyone hopes to see once in a lifetime, if only to break the monotony of mother nature at large.

en route, originally uploaded by gorgeouxness.

have you ever heard a vase crack? Tweet

I just have! I was admiring our tulips and thinking I'd better get started on that gardening when this strange sound filled the room. The sound of ice cracking under one's feet. Except it was my favorite vase, right there, in front of my eyes, and the crack slowly made its way around it. It doesn't leak yet, but I'm afraid it's time to say good-bye, nevertheless. Sigh.

it cracked, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

afternoon tea. no cream for me Tweet

What better after all that walking and talking? Lemongrass tea, in generous amounts, and a few tasty bites to compliment the ice cream we had in the park earlier. I couldn't recommend this concoction more for that lazy Sunday afternoon (and a spot of gardening, for me) when the day has just become significantly longer, so maybe take a look at Tea Pigs, where we got our neverending supply of sunny cups.

afternoon tea, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

sunny interval Tweet

That's what the weatherman said, and while we didn't get our hopes high—weather forecasts are notoriously unreliable here, except when used as joke matter—we kept an eye on the sky. And there it was, as announced, sometimes in the afternoon. The start of the week had been good, very good, but let's just say that the sun slipped farther and farther away as we approached the weekend. Internet, you've never seen me get dressed and out of the door so quickly before! And neither did my usual plus one. But the sunny interval was no joking matter anymore, and I was decided to enjoy and capture every second of it. That's what London makes of one, A WEATHER FUNDAMENTALIST.


Created with flickr slideshow.

sailing club entrance, nha trang, viet nam Tweet

Bubbly had, cold bath had (the best Novotel could do, alas), moon rise had, we finally made our way to the Sailing Club, for dinner. A brief walk later, these ornamental plants were the first sight, and I duly stopped on the bridge and took note of them. In the days that followed, I didn't think to ask anyone what they were, but I did amuse myself watching gardeners picking them up by the handful, long roots hanging loose, and cleaning off dead leaves to only place the creatures back in the pool. It looks like some sort of ornamental cabbage, but what do I know? The effect is awesome, and speaks of the sophisticated yet laid back atmosphere that Sailing Club tries to create—I wouldn't go THAT far in my own description of the place. The color is particularly interesting, though perhaps incidental: while a greenish yellow, it's still yellow, the Southern color of the New Year in Vietnam. In some ways, it's THE color in the entire country, but even with my superficial knowledge, the matter is complex and I'll get round to it another time.

welcome, originally uploaded by gorgeouxness.

here comes the sun, little darling Tweet

Today looked nothing like the image below. Dark, wet, and windy, just what you imagine when you say London. Starting on such exciting grounds, we went to see a flat in Bloomsbury. We ended up seeing two, and thinking that a third would have been of interest, maybe. Before taking the holiday, we had seen a flat in Chinatown and another in Soho, and since coming back we've inquired about at least ten others. Many are no longer available, in fact, at the point where I can find them online, and I do find them fast. Agents are a pain, and they're not here to please tenants, anyway. So all in all, our expectations were low earlier today. The agent didn't bother insisting either (I think he expected students). And stopping for an affogato at Carluccio's seemed the only thing left to do. But even that turned out odd (nevermind it was ferociously pissing down and we sat under umbrellas, outside, so that I could smoke). There were two-three scoops of ice cream next to a normal sized espresso, and my nose grew high instantly: surely there was no way that tinsy drink could drown that gigantic ice cream!

Louche cotton sun dress in red and cream stripes, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

A second espresso later, for yours truly, and we slowly started making our way home. Then I had the splendid idea to quickly browse the high street brands in Brunswick Center, just because I hardly ever do. Fifteen minutes later I had seen at least five shops that left me unimpressed, clothes, shoes, and accessories altogether, until this dress started talking to me from inside Joy—a shop I get even less than others, though Chris has always felt that something in there might start talking to me. It's rather scary how well he knows me. Many of you might also find scary the fact that I have no idea what this Louche tag stands for. A great designer? A terrible designer? How about my new picnic dress? Of course I got it, though only after we spent a longer time in Waitrose. Just so I could drag Chris to see it, see on me, and wait for me to pay while carrying one too many grocery bags. And then we went to Office and did it all again! Except the paying part. But I got him a cab, so now all of us are home safely, waiting for the sun.

ca phe sua da, nha trang, viet nam Tweet

My account of staying at Novotel Nha Trang wouldn't be complete without complimenting them on the quality and aesthetics of their rendition of Vietnamese coffee with condensed milk, here in its iced version—ca phe sua da. EXCEPT they charged 56K dong for it—nearly 2 pounds. By comparison, the Sailing Club, where we spent most of our days at the beach, charged 40K dong, and local restaurant Thien Minh charged... 18K dong! Also by way of comparison, a breakfast of two coffees, two banh my (Vietnamese baguette) with two fried eggs each, meat, and fresh salad was 100K dong at a breezy, elegant terrace nearby, where cold tea glasses were refilled for free endlessly. So. My Vietnamese coffee at the Novotel was pricey by all accounts, especially when I could easily have two in the row. But wasn't it pretty?

ca phe sua da, originally uploaded by gorgeouxness.

reading: riding the iron rooster, paul theroux Tweet

[...] I decided not to say that Professor Needham had proved that the Chinese invented toilet paper. In the fourteenth century they were making perfumed toilet paper for the imperial family (it was three inches square), and everyone else used any paper they could lay their hands on. But some Chinese knew where to draw the line. In the sixth century a scholar, Yen Chih-T'ui, wrote: Paper on which there are quotations or commentaries from the Five Classics or the names of sages, I dare not use for toilet purposes. [...]

[...] That evening I went to the circus and was reminded of how much I hate circuses, especially communist ones. Everyone says: 'Rumanians are wonderful acrobats! Bulgarians are brilliant jugglers! You haven't lived until you've seen a Russian on a tightrope—and a Chinese performer can balance a whole set of crockery on a chopstick he's holding in his teeth!' Why is this so? Why all the flying humans, and people tumbling like ferrets, and doing amazing things with stools? [...]

[...] The hotel at Baikal was marble and mausoleum-like, and it was clean. But I had to be shown three rooms until I found one with hot water, and in the last there was no toilet seat, and none of them had curtains on the windows. The babushkas dusted and mopped, but apart from that there was no maintenance—not only in the larger sense of the drains working or the water running, but in details: knobs were missing from the drawers, and latches from the windows—which didn't open in any case; the locks jammed, the lamps were either dead or bristling with bare wires. Repairs were carried out with bits of sticky tape and pieces of string. It is true that every traveller has to expect to put up with discomfort, but there were huge areas of Soviet life that seemed to me not simply uncomfortable but downright dangerous. [...]

Riding the Iron Rooster: By Train Through China by Paul Theroux at amazon.com and amazon.co.uk

It's very rare that both Chris and I read the same book. More so since he nearly always has something scarily thick on his bedside shelf, which puts him to sleep quickly and, not surprisingly, takes him ages to finish. But when he hurried up reading this one so that I could give it a go, I found it kept me awake with its unexpected wonders and delightful horrors. Chris wishes he had read this before traveling to China, and I certainly wish I read it before traveling to anywhere in Asia. I'll keep bringing the odd excerpts here as I progress, though my bloomin' iPod Touch (thanks, sis!) has taken over heavily since I've come back home. MUST. READ. BOOKS.

spotted, and tried: ping pong, royal festival hall, london Tweet

I've only been to Ping Pong once before, years ago, on Mortimer Street. I recall we mainly had cocktails and they were fine. In general, chain eateries say little to me, but we had very few options on the South Bank tonight, and I really wanted to buy dinner (rather than pizza). Even without a camera, I can tell you how it went and why Ping Pong is, in its category, just another Pret a Manger—pick carefully and you will eat well.

Our waiter tried to upsell us three times in a single breath: fancy prawn crackers (we went for them, as we always do), five dishes per person (for a gigantic stomach and pocket, perhaps?), and the chef's specials (we went for some, as we always do, and managed to pick in the same price area). Waiting in the bar upstairs with (strike that) FOR a drink, we were also told that all bears were Chinese. Of course. Singaporean Tiger included (we did have something Chinese).

Prawn crackers: tasty, spicy, too few. They should bring the garlic variety. Or did they? Roast pork puff: delicious, great pastry, a win. Would order this again in a blink, should Ping Pong be the only choice another night. Prawn toast: skip. This can be so good when done well. Here, only the chili sauce saved it. And there was too much damn chili sauce coming with everything, and by itself. Spicy pork fillets: tasty, warm, well executed. Definitely a win. Duck, orange & pineapple (sticky rice): meh. Couldn't taste any of the advertised bits. Basil and clam soup with chili: very good stuff, and the right way to end a savory meal, from our recent Vietnamese experience. Ginger cake: could have been OK, but I'm told by the receiver that it wasn't memorable. That says enough. Chocolate and chili mousse: nice, light, with just the right amount of chili.

With two beers each and a large bottle of sparkling water, nearly 50 pounds. You can do much better for this money at Phoenix Palace, our favorite Chinese restaurant in London. But Baker Street couldn't be farther from the South Bank...

first stop at the beach, nha trang, viet nam Tweet

There was no greater sign of spring in Nha Trang than the constant quarrel and chase of the sparrows. They were even steps away from my chair on the Sailing Club beach.

sparrows in the sand, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

from my beach chair, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Ah, but the chair! Front row meant that for most of the day one had an unobstructed view of the horizon, waves, and... dirty sand. Dirty enough that the tiny birds found crumbs, dirty enough that you needed to step carefully to avoid broken glass, and dirty enough that by using my mobile pocket ashtray I felt VERY eco-friendly. Front row chair also meant that beach vendors (affectionately known among tourists as hawkers) had direct access to me, but about them, another time. It's easy to curate one's views, especially in hindsight, so I'll think about ice Vietnamese coffee (ca phe sua da) for now, and the classical umbrella that is THE embodiment of middle class holiday dreams come true. I will ignore for now that someone got sunburned in the shade of that umbrella, that noisy and dangerous water sports took place a few meters away, and that bar staff was way too chilled. I will savour this view only, and its enclosed promise of a state of bliss that, as it happens, it resides solely in the mind of the beholder.

daily nonsense: competitive environment [...] can be daunting Tweet

[...] Chair of Hampstead FC, Diane Culligan, said: "There are many opportunities for children to play football with us and we're particularly keen to get more girls involved with the sport. We don't force anyone into a competitive environment as we know it can be daunting, that's why our academy system is so successful. [...]"

Another sweet excerpt from the useless magazine of our council, Your Camden. Also, the very essence of what is wrong with the UK, if you ask me. In any academic performance assessment I could find online, the UK is in top 15, but not in top 10. So successful!

the moon also rises, nha trang, viet nam Tweet

The full moon rises in Nha Trang just as we sit down with a glass of (overpriced, but you know that by now) bubbly to praise making it across the world in one piece. The night before taking off we finished up so many work tasks that not only we didn't get a wink of sleep, but also managed to do most packing on the shorter side of the half an hour before the car arrived to take us to the airport—for two people, it is cheaper and nicer to have a driver than to bother with the Tube and the Heathrow Express. We also raised our glasses to traveling with hand luggage only, and leaving very few essential bits and bobs behind, in the rush of belated packing. But above all, we drank to being young, healthy, and breathing in the humid atmosphere of Asia. A continent visited three times in three years, from which we'll likely take a break—too much of a good thing, etc. Nevertheless, a continent where islands flicker between perception and imagination in the pink skies before dinner, and one feels chilled, light, and alive.

feeling like a million bucks, originally uploaded by gorgeouxness.

P.S. If you're a sucker for pink Asian skies, like me, check out this before-sunset spotting from two years ago, in Ninh Van Bay. Vietnam again, but don't let that stop you :)

you know you're home when a blackbird chirps it Tweet

Across the street from my windowsill of smoke and Japanese quince blooms, a blackbird stops daily, it seems, to sing in celebration of spring. Or mating. Or, for that matter, my return.

daily nonsense: the meaning of ceo, finally revealed Tweet

Out of context, abbreviations are a funny thing. Can you imagine these people telling their friends and relatives that they're employed as CEOs? Brilliant invention brought to light by the useless publication of our council, Your Camden, March 2010.

the meaning of CEO, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

best novotel room if you expect little else, nha trang, viet nam Tweet

If you don't want to pay a fortune for a bungalow at Ana Mandara (which we did two years ago, with odd results and mixed feelings), and are neither a backpacker, nor a Vietnamese, you'll be in a bit of a pickle finding a reasonably priced central hotel a throw away from the beach. Surely the Novotel is among the very few new options, though next to Sheraton there will also be a Sofitel Plaza and a Marriott on the menu soon. Also, you should look for yourself and for your budget—on his first (and nearly last) morning at the beach, Chris learned that the older Poles next to him were paying 17 dollars per night, and thus, staying for a month. Their skin color and chilled demeanor did corroborate the story.

best room at Novotel, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

So, Novotel, from left to right above: the seaview through the glass wall of the bathroom (which can be covered, worry not about impact on feng shui energies), the seaview from the bed, and the seaview, again, from the balcony. A balcony that opens on two sides, which you'll probably get in any corner room ending in 05. This happens to be the 16th floor out of 17, and lower would have been less interesting, considering all the moments we ended up spending on the balcony—not always by choice—watching the moon rise, the sun rise, or simply the fishing boats and the endless motorcycle river go by. Is the room fit for the money? Just about. It features one armchair only, which is odd, a bath tub sunken in the floor, spacious enough for two yet able to give any toddler parent nightmares, and lukewarm water that makes bathing a overly chilling experience. We endured, as one can, in balmy weather.

late afternoon, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Is Novotel fit for the money? NO. The food is atrocious, and overpriced, just like the drinks, the spa, and the laundry service. The staff can barely put two English words together, or French for that matter, so any helpful intention dies in agony (on both sides) after slow, painful attempts at resurrection. Yes, you can get a cab quickly, walk to more interesting eateries and beach areas easily, and buy more overpriced services from the agency hosted in the lobby. Before leaving, we considered a romantic picnic on private beach. 75 dolla (can't help spelling as they speak) each, only to find out we'd share the private beach with 50 (!) more romantic fools. After some faffing we were offered a more private beach, farther away, for 80 dolla. This involved a long travel back and forth on a speed boat the size of fisherman village, thus prone to motion sickness. We had to decline the private rip-off, and sighed with relief sipping our overpriced happy hour Mojitos.

P.S. In the winter we researched a trip to the Mexico seaside (Yucatan, as the other coast would have been to chilly), and by comparison I must say that only three things made Mexico potentially worse than Vietnam: 1. you're not just a walking wallet, but at the whim of daily random exchange rates (everything quoted in dollars but paid for in local currency) 2. everything is worth stealing, like cheap flip-flops left by the bungalow door and 3. the beach was seriously destroyed in 2005, and little has been done about it ever since.

the vanda predicament, or how not to start with orchids in uk Tweet

My last holiday whim bubbled up in Changi (the Singapore airport) only minutes before boarding the Super Jumbo back: splashing 45 dolla (this is how airports thrive, kindly said the man who knows everything) on a bottle choke-full of Vandaceous plantlets. Because my previous attempts at keeping orchids alive were so successful (I killed two out of two and gifted one knowing it would die), I could tell the obvious step up was to grow my own forest of blue Vandas from seedlings. So I rightfully refused the added rip-off of fine charcoal, as that would be easy to find in any order form of orchid sundries (see how I picked up the terminology in a blink?) and the UK has such a lovely tradition in growing all kinds of green things and bringing aficionados together over tea to discuss soil acidity and root aeration.

vandaceous plantlets, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Except the UK that exists outside my imagination is really crap at orchid sundries, to my horror, so I'm much farther from breaking the bottle open than I was in Singapore. Because now I have quickly supplemented the limited care instructions with an Internet reading session, and then topped it with a search for teak baskets, said charcoal, and Vanda food and there is no chance in heaven or hell that I'll be able to order online all needed and get growing Vandas happily starting this weekend. So that year in which the healthiest plantlets could have bloomed has just become extremely long, and I have a good mind to call each sad orchid nursery the Internet can find and give it a serious grilling for operating in the Middle Ages. I can at least amuse myself in this predicament. BY MAKING OTHERS SUFFER.

fishermen villages seen from the sky, nha trang, viet nam Tweet

Seen from the sky, the larger South China Sea area around the Nha Trang coast seems full of promises. And peace. And sun. Much needed sun. And fish! Much needed fish! And though we chose to stay in the city this time and mingle with the locals whenever skin colour allowed it, instead of some self-sufficient resort like two years ago, my heart was beating harder as the Vietnamese Airlines plane took a generous turn around secluded islands and sheltered beaches before heading back to land in Cam Ranh (30 minutes South of Nha Trang, by car).

fishermen village, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

This is a gorgeous place, and the favorite seaside destination for both Vietnamese people and tourists, and yet it's not the relief that makes Viet Nam unique, it's the people—and we were on a quest to establish whether they are indeed sweeter than other nations, as it had seemed before. We also hoped to learn more about Vietnamese food, in the best chopstick to mouth fashion, so both our aims were given ample chances and equal opportunities by a leg in the South and another in the North, held together by a 24 hours train ride. But everything in due course. Enjoy the first sight of the Vietnamese South, and let the story unfold.

fishermen village, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

cold in the sun of march Tweet

Finding ourselves at Heathrow in tropical holiday attire early this morning made Chris exclaim: Blimey, do they keep everything in the fridge in this country?! Riding home soon after, we heard on the radio that, lo and behold, it was going to be the hottest day of the year so far, 14° Celsius—and everyone in that studio cheered and made all sorts of happy noises as if the barbecue weather had arrived. Our flat had the warmth of a cave, so we put the kettle on (a very proper endeavor for any English returning home from sunnier lands), the furry winter jackets on top of all other layers, and suffered.

the sun of march, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

The only sight to warm me up a bit was the Japanese quince tree in bloom, but that was expected and, before late, I ran the hottest bath I could dip in, jumped in, and closed the door so that not a vapor is lost on the rest of the cave. This was when I learned that my stomach was strongly disagreeing with airport/ airplane food, which was the biggest irony yet: after weeks of Eastern street food, it is the Western trash that gets me?! Though finally warm by then, I was lost for the world, and the client meeting later in the day. I could hardly take a step outside the bed to bathroom and back path, hardly eat or drink, hardly focus on anything above five seconds. The huge bunch of daffs that Chris brought home later left me temporarily cold.

close inspection, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

The lesson? Twofold: what starts cold ends cold. Jetlag should be the least of your travel worries.

Update, March 23rd 2010: I heard that some sort of stomach bug was crawling about London at the time of my ailment, so maybe I can't blame Changi and Singapore Airlines. Maybe I just picked it up in the chilly air outside Heathrow, smoking in the dirtiest designated area yet, glancing unimpressed at car parks, and inhaling some suitably English smog. But smoking kills.