Aandacht, baby!

Eric, this is why you should go to Portugal!

2008-03-11T20:47:00.004+01:00

Café Pastéis de Belém; Belem

Restaurante Rosinha; Matoshinos

The amazing thing about Portugal, is that you'll probably discover a couple of best's. Just as I did.

Have a blast, Eric-o!

Crave.

2007-10-22T21:21:00.001+02:00

I miss Leuven, so so much.

There isn't a day that goes by without me thinking of my lovely little room in 17 Ierse Predikherenstraat.

And running in the wind in my blue tracksuit to Origin O' Leuven to get my fix of organic chocolate and hummus.

And walking up Naamsestraat to get tofu and oyster sauce from the Asian supermarket.

And getting plastic-bag burns from hurling all my grocery shopping back from Delhaize @ Heverlee.

And bringing my bound readings and a highlighter to the laundromat and (making an attempt at) reading while waiting for my laundry to be done.

And "ein warme waffle, austublieft!" choruses I'd echo each day at the stall on Dieststraat.

And running on gravel and grass in the tiny park down the hill.

And the dreary wooden doors of the auditorium.

And the gothic structures on every surface.

And my heart skipping a beat while walking in the rain to the train station to pick the visiting boyfriend up. All the while worrying about whether the banana cake I'd baked for him was cooling well by the window sill.

And the rain, oh pitter patter.

I want to be there. Be home. Be there, and not here.

Home!

2007-08-07T21:41:00.000+02:00

And so it is, just like you said it would be

2007-07-29T02:01:00.001+02:00

I'm the sort of person who begins things never thinking of the end; or that the end will come anytime soon, for that matter.

But it's been six months and tonight is my final night in Leuven.

The floors have been scrubbed, the photos peeled off the wall, the fridge emptied, the bags packed. Everything's ready for its vertrek, it's departure; everything except for me.

I don't want to say goodbye. I don't know how to bid this perfect life farewell full-knowing I will never have it again.

Can't take my mind off you

3 working days, nay?

2007-07-27T01:05:00.000+02:00

I have;

:no chargers so my handphone AND camera are both dead and gone.
:no toothbrush. 'Nuff said.
:no toiletries. Zip, nada, nothing.
:no access to the anti-itch histamine cream I so desperately need for them damned rashes.
:no access to any of the stuff I so gleefully picked up at the Spanish summer sale.
:no way of going to Amsterdam.
:no idea if I am ever going to get my LV bags returned.
:no idea if I will retrieve the birthday present I got for Lulu.
:none of the memories I picked up while travelling.

He has;

:no Eurail pass, so ditto, no Amsterdam.
:no shirts. (So thank God for the 10Euro section at Springfield's)
:nothing to sleep in. (And thank God for my Dutch flatmates)
:no credit card.
:no money.
:no Barca memorabilia.
:none of the stuff he picked up at the Spanish summer sale.
:no idea if he will get his Balenciaga wallet back.
:none of the magnets he collected from every city we visited.

We have;
:no idea why they lost our baggage.
:no idea whether our baggage is still in Barca or en-route to like, Malaga.
:no idea when we will get it back.
:no sodding person in the Spanish Airport telling us anything.
:every reason to be pissed off.

Hot couture

2007-07-17T12:34:00.000+02:00

Hola mi amigos!

Seville is a beautiful town and its architecture is so lush and decadent but the heat, the heat! It sticks to your skin and there's really no way to get rid of it when your hostel puts you up in a room that casts serious doubts on the issue of ventilation.

We've been mucking around at night because it's just too hot to do anything. I suppose this is all good now that I only have 12 days more before I return home to (even) muckier Singapore and I best be prepared for the tropics.

Second-largest might not be second-best

2007-07-07T00:15:00.000+02:00

So today we arrive on Portugese soil, a first for theboy and I. We had absolutely no inkling whatsoever about the language ('tis pretty serious when you arrive without knowing how to say 'Thank you' in the local language) and not much knowledge about the people and the culture.

But after half a day in Porto, the only thing that is definite about Portugal is the fact that it can be described in one word: Beautiful.

Taking the bus to the beach revealed bridges so high-up it felt like we were just midway between aeroplanes and the shore, an entire bus-side view of the ocean opening up as we were going at 90miles/hour, houses in stucco and sunwashed beige popping up like mushrooms amongst basil-like clumps of mountain vegetation... It kind of makes you lose words for a couple of minutes and then emerge from your thoughtfulness with a very intelligent Wahhh-wowww.

We picked the residential beach to begin our happy larking. I had to shout for theboy to hear me because the waves were crashing so hard on the rocks, and the water was a distinct blue-green. He ran like a young un to get his feet wet in the water, picking up conch shells and a particularly pretty rock that tickled his fancy. And I just lay on my beach towel lapping up some sun, my toes buried in a grainy mass of cool sand.

(Okay I realise the last paragraph sounded like a Joseph-Conrad-gone-happy piece of writing)

He actually opened a mussel to see what it looked like inside. And before doing so he approached me with a cautionary question: Do you think it will bite me?

Peas in a pod

2007-07-05T19:35:00.000+02:00

Beso grande from Salamanca!

Universidad Salamanca has got to be the most beautiful university in the world. Romanesque columns and façades still fresh with a million engravings, none identical to the other. I think if I went to school here, I would voluntarily go to all my classes and sit in a corner just behind the Cathedral Vieja staring like an idiot at my beautiful beautiful school.

Tomorrow we go to Porto. And it will be 9 days before we land on Spanish soil again, but I already am feeling that familiar tug in my heart at having to leave Salamanca. Perhaps it´s largely due to the fact that this university town reminds me of Leuven more than any other town I've visited so far.

And that only reminds me about how much I don't want to leave Leuven. My little Leuven. Mine.

Ask me something else

2007-06-26T00:26:00.000+02:00

I said goodbye to,

Heidi
Nath
Ruben
David
Kin Yew
Lucia
Groel
Stefanie
Ania
Mathilda
Nathan
Esther
Bram
Jan
Maarten
Hendrik ...
.
.
.

And it still doesn't get any easier the more times I bid yet another person farewell.

Where did all my borrowed time go?

Snippets

2007-06-23T19:13:00.000+02:00

Okay I am officially the world's worst blogger because I have no coordination whatsoever over my pictures and sequence of experiences.

Not that I really care anyway. Hurr hurr.

But now, every single day I say goodbye to at least one person, local or Erasmus-stamped like me; and every farewell dinner I attend draws me closer to my own departure date, I do feel a little more urgency to chronicle my little life in this town I've called home the past 5 months.

So here goes nothing; snippets of Leuven over the past 2 days. I smell a series coming along.

A noise outside my door led to the discovery of a crumpled note and a can of Mae's. Ruben thought it would be too difficult to say goodbye face-to-face, but when I eventually ran down the street just in time to catch the boy and his backpack, he had tears in his eyes.

My favourite Belgian and second boyfriend he will always be.

-

And a dagschotel with Uncle Bob is never dull, especially when it involves ritzy vegetarian food.

Probably the best bread in the world!

Eh do you think I can ask for more?

If my girlfriend ate as much bread as you, I, errr, I... ...

Grilled seitan gratin.

Eh can I scrape your dish? I like the charred bits.

One for the book, neighbour!

A happy Nath sparklers on a chocolate cake maketh.

Did you know that when Nath was born, it was the longest day of the year? 20 hours!

So said her mother to the rest of us.

Singaporeans unfamiliar with the concept of Midsummer are quite prone to misunderstanding that that means it was quite difficult to give birth to her.

No I didn't speak that thought out loud. Thank heavens!

-
Post-Cecemel and pre-dinner afternoon walks home, seem to bode for quirky finds.

Origin O' Leuven; why did I not discover you sooner? Organic and vegan are right up my alley; I know I ain't both things, but I sure as hell can try. I am more than fascinated with seitan and hummus, and if you can make quiche taste kickass for half the calories, I'm sold.

What is this?

And what is this?

What about this?

What's in this?

Chocoladeknapper? Yes, this one!

Origins, you really shouldn't put your yummies behind a glass casing. Because I can see them. And I can ask questions. And I tend to enquire what ingredients you used to make them look so yummy. And I can't read Dutch so I need you to translate for me. And my indecisiveness increases the more delectable food porn is.

Oh god Celest, stawwwpp.

1989

2007-06-22T17:16:00.001+02:00

Exams begone! I am a happy girl again.

And when I am happy, I post pictures.

These were taken at Michael's new-old apartment in Warsaw. New because he just moved in, old because it was built for the good people living at Służew during communist rule.

I was completely fascinated with the flat; it was like I was reading Siberian Dream all over again. You can't verbally describe something to be 'so communist', but you sure can feel it. Maybe it's in the uniformed layouts, the pale walls washed down in cheap paint, the Russian refrigerators, or the faux parquet sheets laid over concrete. I don't know; it just is.

And no, Michael didn't think me nutters for snapping pictures of everything in the line of my vision. I think he was just about as fascinated as I was; afterall he was only 4 when the Russians left Poland and took their food queues with them.

Faded with age; always remembered.

Przepraszam

2007-06-21T14:10:00.000+02:00

Economics is not my forte. Never has been, and it never will be. Perfect markets and perfect information do not exist in any world, and I have never managed to excel in anything I have no ability to believe in or comprehend.

D'oh.

I'd rather be in a place not so far away from where I am now, sitting on a swivel chair watching episodes of Dilbert while munching on Princessa bars.

Even more so, I wouldn't mind long walks through parks sectioned in fields of green alongside grey tiles, most possibly procured even before the communist era.

Polska, you certainly have left yourself in my heart.

Where are Lucy's diamonds?

2007-06-12T19:49:00.000+02:00

So they said goodbye, with a phonecall at 7:02 in the morning.

& already, they are sorely missed.

Mom, Dad, Celest, and a thousand different words

2007-06-09T01:19:00.000+02:00

Well-thumbed, my sidekick, well-thumbed.

Mommy takes a bite of Belgium!

Back in Leuven, Rossi's nondescript interiors pack a mighty fine punch,

and if you don't believe me, you have to believe my pasta. The thinnest tagliatale ever known to man and black truffles, y'all!

and if you still don't believe me, you have to believe Roberto Benigni; he of La Bella Vita fame. He whose famous face is tacked up on the wall behind that of my famous father.

Hell, if Rossi's is good enough for Benigni, it's good enough for me.

But okay, there's always a rotten apple in every basket. Here, my mother's dinner demonstrates that fact quite well. All that glistens is not gold; and in this case, it's oil.

Besides that little glitch and the mad scramble all day, I sit here feeling on top of the world :)

HAPPY IS MY NAME!

2007-06-07T22:46:00.000+02:00

Zee parental unit is here! I'm the happiest girl in the world!! Mom burrowed me into a monster of a hug at the train station and I couldn't stop talking the entire time after that, a close competitor to Mommy because she had even more to tell me!

And looky at Mommy's loot from Paris!

A-hem! Add 3 Longchamp bags to that and errrr.... well I think you can just say that I am my mother's daughter! I was beyond ecstatic when she pulled the bags out of their velvet casings.

Beeeeeeeyond ecstatic, I tell you!

And Mommy got me a present too! Longchamp I love you! Mommy I love you even more!!

The tin, not just the packet!

2007-06-03T02:21:00.000+02:00

It's 0215 in the morning. My textbook is more wide-open than my eyes are.

But all I can think about is

Why Umami, why!

Lithuanian cuisine

2007-05-28T23:33:00.000+02:00

I am quite familiar with the smell of tuna; I use it quite often in the quick-fix pasta meals I make.

But judging from the smell that is wafting through the house now, it appears that my flatmate has done gone and grilled an entire ton of tuna, sprinkled it with an over-generous heap of salt and then left it in the oven to bake for 10 hours.

Because some things don't require words at all

2007-05-27T02:02:00.000+02:00

Auschwitz

He could have been somebody's grandfather.

Birkenau

Some places you go will stay burrowed in your heart and mind; for as long as your memory doesn't fail you.

Dobry dobry dobry

2007-05-25T13:42:00.000+02:00

I LOVE large, circley, chockfull-of-bread pretzel things,

as I do mother-of-Maciek's home-cranked apple crumble ,

and you all know I could choke a dog to death with my incessant hugs (yes I do love things that I cannot eat too),

and there is little not to love about fields of green and gold where if you tip-toe, you can see Ukraine.

So this probably means I love everything I got to see and do in Poland.

But what I reeeeeeally love about Poland, I think, is a boy who wears bow-ties and lets his mommy dress him.
The kind of boy who always looks too eager for school. Schmanzy smarty pants!

And the same kind of smarty pants who washes all your clothes for you while you're sleeping the morning away, and who quietly puts them on hangers all over the room to dry before tip-toeing out to school.

Must admit; always had a soft spot for the kind of things Poland still does offer.

Alloyed stomach

2007-05-16T00:16:00.000+02:00

No I don't have an iron stomach; I have an alloyed stomach. Which is much stronger and which contains more room and depth than its iron counterpart.

Ok ok, this alloyed stomach does not do innards or anything that comes from under the meaty body of any animal.

No lard and cracklings either.

And nothing spicy.

And preferably, nothing with whipped cream either.

That said, there still exists a whole WORLD of food that doth not fall into these unfortunate categories. And alloyed stomach takes them all!

I conquered PIEROGI. But yes, I cheated. I had the vegetarian version with cabbage and mushrooms because I really didn't want to have barmy mystery meat (or innards! Burrrrr) swimming in my mouth.

And cabbage rolls stuffed with gruel and potato. Ukrainian food is a newfound friend that I intend to keep very close to my heart/tummy.

And oh, this one is a definite sinker for any set of sculptured abs. Placki, or very deep-fried discs of julienned potatoes, onions and what tasted like a lot of starch. Good shite, but please, go easy on this, lest you end up stumbling back half-groaning and holding your aching belly like we did.

With claims that it really is a Georgian restaurant, what the Chimera should actually do is put up a bigass signboard that shouts FREAKING CHEAP FOOD: A'LA CARTE QUALITY PAIRED WITH BUFFET QUANTITY AT STREET PRICES!
My dibs, clockwise from top left: broccoli tart, wild mushroom salad, potato and cream cheese mash in filo pastry, grilled eggplant with stewed tomato puree, sour boiled egg salad, spinach fritata. Burp.

And seeing so many pictures of various creamy concoctions that I merrily saw fit to partake in is now making my belly swell in horror. Oh mercy, woe is me for I have sinned.

Pancakes with Polish jam. Which really is syrup preserve with the thickness of industrial strength white-glue. Belch.

Tagliatale with tenderloin (which wasn't tender) in a (veryveryvery) creamy champignon sauce. Double belch.

Panga fillet in a creamy sauce of shrimps and mushrooms. Triple belch, plus it was as unappetizing as the picture looks.

But this little Ukrainian baby saved the cream-filled family from going down permanently into my book of death. White borsch with hard-boiled eggs. Sheer genius. Thick with just the right amount of tiny bumps to let you know the food processor didn't kill every single bit of fresh produce these good Ukrainian grannies put into their borsch. Tart, without being cloying. And smashed against the firmness of boiled egg-white is a soup that only a loving granny can conjure.

It's official, I'm obsessed. Oh white borsch, would you marry me?

It might be a while, darling

2007-05-09T15:30:00.000+02:00

This lazy blogger has become very very weary from blogging about her crazy travel tales. Most of all, Blogger is driving her crazy with its erratic picture-posting functions, and after having lost 3 full posts with peek-tures and a lot of time in the past 24 hours, she is THIS close to snapping.

A very needed hiatus will come in place of the dizzy and too-comprehensive travel posts she is now too tired to pursue.

SO. Check back only if you are interested in random nuggets of stupid things she has to say and of course, for her rants and raves on FOOD. (Ah, this, she cannot give up) If you're looking for shots and prose on castles, bridges and various historical places, nada. Not for now honey.

Buhh-bye! :)

It's all about the crust, dahh-ling!

2007-05-07T18:09:00.000+02:00

(In the tiniest, tiniest voice humanly possible),

I want to eat Godma's cheesecake squares.

Now, that wasn't very subtle, was it?

(Meep!)

Look how the Swedish winds blew

2007-05-03T11:51:00.000+02:00

Hello (single) ladies,

I have a prime candidate here to end your spinsterhood, and he is none other than Mr Ng Rongwei. You should trust me because for four days, I was living in the room next to him and we spent an average of 16 hours together daily.

Let me give you the Top 10 reasons why he should be the one and only candidate on your mind.

#1: He navigates when you are too lazy to. You never have to lift a finger to even find the general direction; good for lazy girls like Lirong and me and for hopeless navigators like our dear Jo Yeo.

#2: He subscribes to old school methods of love! Like throwing coins into the Lake of Love in Bruges to make a wish for love. He was unfazed even when I told him that the locals fish out coins people throw in at the end of the day.
#3: He subscribes to all your culinary recommendations, and always returns a resounding thumbs-up even when the afore-mentioned doesn't taste even remotely close to perfection. (Applies to waffles, limp cream gauferes, pasta, and cookies that you baked)
And he is easy to please too; a simple mua chee satisfies his chinese food craving. (This means a hole will not be emblazoned into your pockets should you decide to give him a rare treat)

#4: He zeroes in on your cravings and pays for your eventual enjoyment of said desired food. (Sometimes, you even have to fight him to pay for half the bill)

I was whining about how good all the chocolate looked in the little choc'lit shops in Bruges and he immediately bought a pick-and-mix box and insisted I choose most of the chocolates to put in them.

And of course I was the one who wanted ice-cream. Once more, he obliged.

#5: He believes in snail mail! 'Nuff said.

#6: He remembers how to make hearts out of bus tickets and the lo-mantic way of folding letters. On request, he can make cranes and boats too.

As demonstrated here with the placemat and napkins of a budget Italian restaurant.

#7: He trawls old towns to look for musical boxes for ahem-ahem. And he searches between rows of wooden puppets, porcelain dolls and fondue sets for that elusive toy zee entire day. And he buys bags for his 3 sisters and agonizes over what to get his mom. Dayum, you say!

#8: SPG alert! His looks allow you to boast that you snagged yourself a boyfriend of Peranakan/French/Portugese/Indian/Javanese/Whateverchapalang descent. You'd be lying, but he wouldn't be so mean to expose your little white lie.

#9: And best of all, HE LEAVES THE TOILET SEAT DOWN!

#10: Because I say so.

So look no further, really. This is YOUR man! You can apply by emailing either Lirong or me at sellingourindian@h10f.com.

Kind regards,

The friendly Management at H10F

Love in my tummy

2007-04-28T16:48:00.000+02:00

So much for getting motivation from Daddy's sorbet-resolve. Yours truly went trooping into the land of desserts and sweet nothings once again; but this time, I baked! :)

Ok I had to finish the bottle of peanut butter I bought on a whim a month-and-a-half ago to make the fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches which made Elvis' arteries pop too, but there's never a bad reason to bake right? That, and my craving for soft cookies which has never been fulfilled since visiting Jie in Milan and gobbling down her Sains' cookies meant that soft peanut butter cookies were the way to go!

What I didn't count on was the fact that I had to mix everything by hand and brown sugar doesn't seem to like butter very much. But after all that arm-work,

First batch!

The cookies were softer than I'd have liked them to be. Ah well, nothing a little refrigeration can't solve :)

Mini Dolce e Salato cookies I made after getting tired of big cookies. These are topped with nutella butter icing. I think I hold a torch for things that are sweet and salty at the same time. Think Reese's.

Baking makes a lazy Saturday afternoon in Leuven even more a-okay than it already is. Big chocolate smiles. And hands that smell of cookie dough. Who's complaining? :)

Basel: The non-food entry

2007-04-25T10:21:00.000+02:00

Basel for the weekend. By far my shortest trip since coming here; if you don't count the day trips we are akin to make to nearby Belgian cities.

But first, I had my readings to conquer. On a shaky bus with no legroom. Nein gut!

Stayed at the Ramada Messe Hotel, the tallest inhabited building in the whole of Switzerland for now, with its 31 stories of splendour. Haha, we'd do better to take away our ideas of the Westin Stamford now.

Antonio Lupi and Starck pieces; who would complain?

And of course, a sight for sore eyes... DADDY!

First stop: The Rhine River. So gloriously sunny that we ditched our jackets soon after and subsequently never wore them in the day ever again.

Ferry ride across the Rhine. Too sunny for pictures, really.

Second stop: The Rathaus! All done in art noveau style. And of course Daddy had to endure an earful of me rambling on and on about Mucha.

The Münster.

Trawled the streets after that. Basel is good exercise for lumpy people like me; so many uphill streets!

Tram 15 up the hill; but it brought us all around Basel Town, really.

And then we stumbled across a strange sight near Marktplatz; a relay across the center of town, with participants from 8 to 80. Daddy was quite impressed with the speed of some of the serious competitors.

The Rhine by night. One of these buildings at the side is the most pricey hotel in Basel. Beautiful, innit?

On Sunday we went for Mass at the Münster, and a nice cuppa for brunch in front of the Rathaus after that.

A lazy morning to prepare our hearts for great excitement later in the afternoon...!

...The Basel FC-Zurich game!

Which in all honesty was probably the best football I've watched in a live game in Europe. Ironic because this took place in little Switzerland! But I guess Basel was goal-desperate and they had to beat Zurich to advance forward in the league and that made for a smashing good time!

And of course, who doesn't like games between traditional rivals? The more bloodthirsty, the better! ;) We're all smiling here; Uncle Tomas, Toby and meee!

Enter the stars!
Kick-off!
The first tackle down pat.
Freekick to Basel.Tussle!
Freekick to Zurich, which thankfully they didn't get in.

Little boys in red and blue. They were looking around for every spare scrap of paper to crunch into balls and throw down at the crowd.

The third goal for Basel!
Penalty to Basel! All in!

The final score: 4-2 to Basel!

Suffice to say everyone was extremely happy after that! Even people with twisted ankles celebrate!

We all went for a celebratory dinner on the mountains after that and Uncle Tomas insisted on treating everyone. Dad joked that if Basel had lost, he would have declined dinner because everyone would have been extremely glum.

Maple leaves on the mountain.
Horseys!

Castle on a cloud. Almost la! ;D

Sunset.

The match sent our hearts palpitating so much that poor Daddy was completely pooped after that. ZZzzzZz not even CNN could rouse him.

Last day at The Historiches Museum. Interesting, but not my cuppa tea! ;D Macho men like macho knights' armours!

The busk of St. Ursula; the treasure of all treasures in the Basel Cathedral Treasury. I like the busk, but bad lighting is really one of my pet peeves.
Tiny gold statue of David, with work done in the 13th, 15th and 17th centuries; all on the same statue!
Done with the non-food part of the trip. The food log will come next.. And I really am a greedy gobbledy-goop; Daddy can attest to that! ;)
-

Three days with Daddy-O and I miss him even more now!

Sniffle.

Room 1101

2007-04-22T23:22:00.000+02:00

@ The Messe.

Rosti and risotto. Slippers in the sun. Latte macchiato and watery bircher muesli. RotBlau euphoria at Jakob's Park. Talks on everything and nothing on shaky white tables by the roadside (No actually, on the roadside).

A sunset on the mountain.

Time with Daddy: always precious, always in my heart.

Bacio Grande

2007-04-19T01:36:00.000+02:00

Everyone in Bocconi is crazy. No actually, this comment extends only to SMU students on exchange there. (See, I spared Kiat!)

Or maybe it really IS something about the school that makes you go nutso. Something they add into the crappy cabonara they sell in the canteen? Or in the compulsory macchiatos they drink everyday? I mean, this is their wet-floor caution sign afterall... Hiak!

'Mmkay. Behind behind, get in the line.

By default, anyone who visits Milan and is hosted by this brady bunch of looneys will start act like something's not quite right up there. Like for like.

There's the strange girl who revs up her speech with 'Awe-SOME!' Emphasis and pitch, y'all. Oh Dee I love you even though not everything you exalt to be 'Damn cool, damn cool, damn cool!' is all that fabulous.

Sizzling Dee, just sizzling!

And I also love you Dee, because you braved the horrific encounter of the wrinkled old Italian stallion anatomy show with me.

And this is Mir; she owns the most formidable chest this side of town. She allowed Jie and I to cook her boyfriend in a pot of curry on his birthday card, which is just about the coolest thing a girlfriend can do for her significant other, right? Me likey Mir.

Mir and Steph; who now own Ferragamo shoes. And Celest; who now owns a pair of brown H&M slippers. Retailing at 4.90E.

On the second-last of my crazy nights there, we couldn't stop talking about boobies (I think it was sparked off by some jealousy at Mir's well-endowed chest compared to the barely-theres the rest of us plebeians possess). As Jie illustrates,

Though I don't know why her hand continues to be there even after the picture was taken.

A shout-out to my breast friends in Singapore. Sue and Dawn, remember the yank-and-pull?

Don't know why I only have one decent shot with the one person who held the make-or-break position for my Milan trip, and she MADE it quite possibly the best time I ever had in Italy.

Ode to Loh Jieying, my cushy-tush fellow domestic goddess: Oh! How I adore thee. Oh! How I miss thee. (And the brown Bottega which will never be mine)

Bacio grande.

Happy birthday

2007-04-14T23:37:00.000+02:00

to my love of all loves!

There was once a boy named Meng,
who was not your average Dunman Beng.
He lived for kaya spread on bread,
and soccer seemed to make him mad.

An accounting degree was what he sought,
and hard-core mugging he never forgot.
But throw in a nifty mahjong game,
and his energy would burst in flame!

Off Meng trooped to the land of Poles,
so very happy it would be cold.
But when it started getting hot,
he wondered if he'd sweat like snot.

He trooped off to see London Bridge
with faithful brothers he would not switch.
They feasted like kings ever joyfully
and helped boost Queen Beth's economy.

Then Berlin he ventured off to see,
to meet his crazy lil' lassie.
They ambled to the famous wall: pride of vandals
Took free rides on the subway: glorious scandal!

Of waffles, fries and lots of beer
his tummy settled in Belgium near.
Time with his lassie he didn't neglect,
though they did cheer Purple Anderlecht!.

To Sweden Meng took off again,
and that was not at all in vain.
He met his favourite faux Indian friend,
and burst his pockets in Viking land.

Paris was a brave venture,
for the damned French still made Meng shudder.
Once again they proved a bumbling mess,
so much resemblance to a white rat's ass.

Rome at Easter was the plan
for two girls, a gay and a normal man.
Pasta cabonara oh so tasty,
Meng lapped it up in a quick-wit frenzy.

Forza Lazio Alle Alle Alle! they yelled,
along with men who cursed and smelled.
T'was a game of force and fire,
poor Messina in a state so dire.

Wherever he goes, Meng needs to know
His little lassie misses him so.
She jumbles and mumbles some odd little rhymes
to wish him a Happy Birthday at the opportune time!

Tubby in Roma

2007-04-13T16:44:00.000+02:00

Chapalang entry on food in Rome. Chapalang because we ate according to whim, according to guidebooks, according to budget, and according to convenience. In a nutshell, we ate everywhere and nowhere.

We were cramped into a tiny restaurant where table met table only because we wanted to watch the Roma-Man U game on TV after failing to get tickets. But this find yielded something very close to my heart- SATAY!

...Ok not really! This was grilled beef on skewers but don't you think it looks like the real McCoy? Taste-wise it was really tender and had just the right amount of fat on it to be juicy. Would have preferred it served in the form of a whole steak, but I suppose that would have exploded our holey pockets.

A cheaper option is naturally street food, though not necessarily a better choice. My penchant for glazed confectionary (think KK original glazed) led me to purchase one of these hefty babies. Glazed sweetish bread (which I mistook for puff pastry) filled with a nutty paste which tasted more like sugar than nuts.

I look happy, but I ain't.

It proved too cloyingly sweet and too doughy. And way too expensive for its price tag, especially since I could only stomach three-quarters of it with help from Denise.

And of course, we couldn't have forgiven ourselves if we didn't have a proper pasta meal in Italy. I had myself a dish called Egg Pasta Complete. Which essentially was egg pasta with Italian sausage, porcini mushrooms, microscopic bits of black truffle, some cream and the quintessential parmesan shavings.

It was good, but not superior to the Fettucine Carbonara Weiming had. Unknown to us, carbonara is the sauce that Rome is known for, so I didn't have that on my plate. It was so good we all chewed in silence at the mouthful WM gave us to try, and then burst into an "Oh my Gawd, this is DAMN good!" The egg was so skilfully blended into the cream that it found itself in the perfect place between smooth and lumpy.

But he lapped it up so quickly I didn't take pictures :(

And equally Italian would be pizza so we found ourselves at a pizzeria renowned throughout Rome for its hugeass pizzas and hugeass crowds. In true Ah Gay style, he ordered starters and shared them with us.

Breaded risotto balls with porcini mushrooms. Individually, I like croquettes, adore mushrooms and love risotto, but put them together and it causes quite a disaster for me. It was too sticky and the crisp-then-creamy combination wasn't achieved in this version.

The potato croquettes were better, but not outstanding.

The pizzas were WAY. TOO. BIG. I had their namesake pizza as did Ah Gay and Dee and it demolished my stomach, forcing me to scrape off the topping on a quarter of the crust I could not stomach anymore. Look at the size of these monsters; they don't even fit on the plates they're served on.

On a paper-thin crust that sadly could not take the weight of the generous topping, my pizza was filled with Italian sausage, porcini mushrooms (good combi I say!), mozarella cheese and a fried egg in the centre. WM's pizza had olives on it so I didn't try any. Suppose it was good because he managed to finish everything.

And being so Chinkaporean, we just had to have Chinese food. The first decent Chinese I've had since my trip to London. And my first time having prawns here, in a dish that's not dimsum-related! I really liked it served on a hotplate with a starchy egg-white sauce, mushrooms and spring onions.

And ahhh, the piece de resistance of the entire trip: GELATO! Old Bridge Gelateria near Vat City serves 3 scoops for 1.50Euro; the cheapest in the whole city. I loved the nutella flavour most, but I also really liked stratciatella and baci too.

I think in this picture I was having Old Bridge for the third time in ONE day. Crikey! :/

I. is. fat. Rome made me fat. Howhowhow?

Can't be bothered with Photoshop no more!

2007-04-13T11:05:00.000+02:00

But the F30 is a stellar baby. Some of the shots look SLR-ed even though I didn't do anything with them. Geez Louise, I really have got to thank the good people at John 3:16 once more for dissuading me from getting the Lumix.

Y'annyway, down to the real point of zzis entry.. Roma and Milano. My Easter holiday getaway. And probably the only time I'm setting my feet on Italian soil this time around.

And o-kay, Charleroi wasn't as bad as the reviews made it out to be. I do wish there were bouncers around to make people get in line before boarding so it doesn't turn into a shoving fiasco altogether. But then again, maybe I'm feeling especially sore about it because my priority-boarding privilege was ignored.

Touched down, zipped off to lousy B&B, zipped off again to the Memorium, of something or someone whose name I can't recall.

And of course, we just had to be stupid. The first of many stupid faces to come.

Roman ruins.

Hanna-hanna, muscular la.

Ruins of a bathroom? But alas I don't know where the toiletbowl went. See, don't these look like tiles from the bathroom of your random English aunt?

Or maybe the Romans just dug holes to answer nature's call, as demonstrated by Gabriel (henceforth referred to as Ah Gay, click HERE to find out why). Try to get the constipated face and clenched fists out of your head ok? They haunt you, take it from me.

And the absolute must-see when you're in Rome: The Colosseum (or as Mir would say, the Coliseum haha)

Dee is constipated too. And shut up about the height difference, you detractors. I am normal, she is abnormally tall. Right, Jie?

Jumping nutcases. Although this has an uncanny resemblance to the educational institute the three of us are currently enrolled in, do not let this lead you to assume we possess even an ounce of pride and loyalty to said school.

By night. Looks almost postcard-worthy eh?

That same night, we stole placemats, olive oil and vinegar from a restaurant because they cheated us on the bill. Ugly Singaporeans we are; vengeful too.

Vatican City the next day. First up, some rules:

I just have a thing for mosaics. They're architecture miracles for someone as myopic and clumsy as me. So I had a field day because the Vat City museum had two entire rooms filled with mosaic floors and artpieces.

And look at the miniscule mosaic piece. We had to look through a magnifying glass to see the detailing.

And being the snailmail junkie I am,

The School of Athens by Raphael. Taking in this huge fresco was like playing Where's Wally? Only that the many Wallies were replaced by greats like Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, Pythagoras, a very Huerculean Michaelangelo and Raphael himself.

St. Pieter's Square.

I think too much sunshine is bad for your brains. It makes you do inane things in sacred places. Like pay tribute to afore-mentioned stupid school with We-are-different! starjumps.

And of course, we just had to redeem ourselves by doing jumps of another sort. Make like a prayer and praise it!

And okay, the place in its undisturbed state.

Trevi Fountain. Milking tourists dry of their pounds and pennies because they make you believe all your wishes will come true if you don't do what my mom says I always do: spend-money-like-water, but rather throw money into the water.

Asswipe using a magnetic rod to fish money out of the fountain. Dee and I had to exercise restraint to stop ourselves from kicking him into the pool.

Had to make do with showing displeasure the Italian way.

The Spanish Steps. Built by the Italians, financed by the French, named for the Spanish. Or something like that.
Dee does as the Romans do! Here she demonstrates how to collect free water by the Spanish steps.

The Pantheon.

We, together with (insert number close to infinity) people went for the Good Friday procession at the Colosseum. The Pope made an appearance close to the end, after all 14 stations of the cross had been read.

All 5 shots I took of the Pope are blurred because of the massive floodlights and the hairy arm that kept shoving me to the side, but if you can make out the central whitewashed figure, that's the Pope.

Completely worn out, post-procession. Ah Gay couldn't even muster enough arm strength to take a steady picture.

Thankfully we slept off the fatigue because the Lazio-Messina match the next day was a riot we just had to participate in!

And Dee and Ah Gay just had to wear the colour of the Away team. Luckily no bottles rained on us.
1-0 win to Lazio. Risky scoreline for a home game, but the fans (and us) went delirious anyway. Post-game.

Climbed a hill to catch what we hoped would be an aerial view of Rome. Didn't get much of that but we did manage to catch the sun setting into the pink horizon.

And so that was a little bit on Rome. Trust me when I say it's just a little bit because I completely maxed out my memory card. A fricking XD card, so that says a lot. Will post pictures of Easter Sunday mass at St. Pieter's Square and fooooooood in Rome later.

Later, after I dream about the fettucine carbonara at Campo d' Fiori.

Laterrrrrr.

Back

2007-04-12T17:52:00.000+02:00

Bus. Walk. Plane. Bus. Train. Train. Bus. Walk.

And I'm back on Belgian soil. Updates later once I ice my screaming toes and stretch my sore back comfortably.

I miss Jie :(

Cheery Easter post, y'all

2007-04-04T01:02:00.000+02:00

Bram's coming over to pick me up in 2 hours and I'll be headed to the world's worst airport to catch my flight to Rome. Ok la, maybe not the worst in the world, but definitely the worst in Belgium.

And stupid Ryanair should just stop telling its customers that the airport's called Brussels Charleroi Airport, when it does not lie anywhere near Brussels. And to get there from Brussels, it takes about 1 bloody hour on a winding bus. Just call it Charleroi Airport like it is, why can't you?

Some comments I found online while checking up on the transfer I have to make to Charleroi:

CRL has finally had a cash machine installed, an event proudly announced on its website as if it were a very special privilege granted to the passengers

The last time I flew into Charleroi it was a Sunday - the journey took me five hours and it's only 100 miles! I had to wait an hour for the bus to Charleroi train station. As the bus pulled in the train to Brussels pulled out and I had to wait another hour. At Brussels I had to wait about 50 minutes! I think the transport authorities in Belgium need to get their act together.

Boarding is invariably annoying as the hapless staff makes no attempt to control the free-for-all.

Clearly the authorities have no interest in you spending any money there. The smoke-infested cafeteria will not even accept local Belgian bank cards. They will, however, accept VISA on any purchase over 15euros! Thanks a lot! I boarded my flight starving and thirsty and feeling like a fool for not having packed a picnic before leaving home.

This airport is like a disused IKEA store cum warehouse.

-
Wah, thanks. Now I'm looking forward to being there at 430am and arriving one grumpy hippo in Rome.

And if Bram wasn't driving me there, I'd be arriving a grumpy, blood-thirsty hippo.

Little monkey!

2007-04-01T18:07:00.000+02:00

My brother was using my parents' MSN account to talk to me. This is all I remember of the conversation:

01-Apr-07
3:55:09 PM
Cecilia and Nat
lots been going on and changing here
hope it doesnt change too much sigh
but dont worry bout me at least

01-Apr-07
3:55:35 PM
Celest*
guess when i come back in 6 mths, lots will have changed
are you fine and ok?

01-Apr-07
3:55:41 PM
Cecilia and Nat
haha the most i'll change is that i'll become more handsome haha

-

Miss the brother. Mom's right when she says he can talk Eeyore into a smile.

Who says Eastern Europe's always cold?

2007-03-28T23:16:00.000+02:00

There is little that can beat having sunshine tossed earthward in generous abundance while one is being teased by the light spring breeze. All while having a good friend sit with you by the riverside. Oh that was Heidi and me alright; two bug-eyed girls with giant induced smiles and lots of time to spare.

Here's looking at you!

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see 'em bloom for me and you

And I think to myself,

What a wonderful world

I see skies of blue, clouds of white

The bright blessed days, and dark sacred nights

And I think to myself,

What a wonderful world!

Quite worthwhile, this 15-hour busride

2007-03-28T21:47:00.000+02:00

I officially hate buses. Never mind that I got myself booked on yet another one to Basel in 3 weeks.

That said, Prague is beautiful. Touristy, but beautiful in a way that redeems the jacked up prices and restaurant scouts scattered everywhere. I mean, how could you not like this?

The City Hall. Done Art Nouveau style.

These aren't even the most droolsome of pictures; I have to get pictures of Charles Bridge and the aerial view of Prague from Heidi, because my never-say-die camera died on me that faithful day we climbed our little hearts out to the top of the hill.

Prague is also home to certain celebs, and I'm not talking about booty-shaking or pantyless stars like Beyonce or Brits; but stars like Kafka and Mucha.

This little blue house was home to Kafka, one of his many nomadic abodes.

And the hero of all heroes in my book: Alfonse Maria Mucha. (Say it breathlessly and in awe, and you pretty much get how my little heart skips a beat at each Mucha piece I see) He pretty much has his stamp indented all over Prague, like with this stained glass window he designed for the cathedral. I went all around town searching for the missing 'Rose' piece in his Four Flowers Series, and in abso-dayum style, bought a double copy of the 'Lily' picture. I'm counting on you now RW, to restore my happiness!
And while we're on the topic of the cathedral, apparently they threw three Catholic priests through these windows. Our guide actually yelled at Byron not to give himself the same treatment when he attempted to open one of the windows.

Scores of tourists wait beneath the clock tower for a little surprise that comes every hour. I have no idea what this little surprise is because none of us had the patience, nor the bladder power to endure the wait.

See what I mean, this bladder problem? That's me in the middle, flanked by unhappy friends also deprived of toilet-time.

Our bursting bladders and continuous lethargy were really exacerbated by the crazy amount of walking we did, thanks to a guide who obviously thrives on information overload. Someone should have told her we are not history majors, just mere curious tourists. Ulla at her most exhausted looks almost homeless, doesn't she?

But no really, she isn't always so boho-looking. Oh and how could I forget this: the start of each day, Ulla our live-sized Barbie doll getting her impossibly fragile hair combed with tremendous effort!

Dinner on the first night was promised to be "at a beautiful location with delicious food", according to the programme booklet. Well, they got half of that right; the underground tavern was gorgeous and the live music was great, but I can't say the same for a main course that tasted like a grilled version of KFC drumsticks.
That's us, happier with cocktails at the bar than said crappy dinner.

And you can just imagine the delight I experienced when I found out that there wasn't just one Easter Market in Prague. In fact, there were so many markets I still don't know how many there were all over town.

Oh how we feast our CZ krony away.

And this is a common sight at markets in Prague: headless men grilling huge chunks of pork. o_O

At the Jewish quarters, the men (boys) were made to wear Jewish caps before entering. Here's Patrick, whom methinks cuts a rather striking figure as a Jew, despite being very Spanish in reality.The Jewish cemetery.
This sight for me, was very Schindler's List. Remember the last part of the movie?
They recorded the names, birth-and-death dates of all the Czech Jews who died or who were interned during the Holocaust. These fill the whitewashed walls of two whole rooms so it was really quite a massive effort.

Heidi One during the coffee break. She goes Jihad when she's tired.

Oh what a disjointed, confusing entry. Please believe me when I say that Prague is a thousand times more charming than I make it out to be here.

And damn those 15-hour busrides.

Because this is too funny not to post

2007-03-23T14:24:00.000+01:00

Celest* says:
my friend hendrik looks like a younger version of josh hartnet
and a better-looking version too

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
but they need to be rich
poor ang mos are as useless as chinese ones
haha

Celest* says:
yeah hendrik is rich!!
ooh, should i have an affair?? HAHAHA

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
haha
well then
YES
AFFAIR AFFAIR

Celest* says:
oh man, i must snap a picture of him
he spent the whole lesson yesterday talking to me
and i earnestly had to give up listening to horizontal mergers to talk to him
HAHAHA

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
lol
yes snap a pic of him
so weiming can eat his heart out

Celest* says:
HAHA
eye candy every single class

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
I WANT
what wldnt i give now for a hot affair.
sigh.

Celest* says:
me first!!!

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
haha

Celest* says:
but babe
good news
HE HAS AN IDENTICAL TWIN!!!
hoho, a beefier version
but i prefer lean so you can have the beef

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
i'm not into beefy guys
i want lean
swap la
haha

Celest* says:
TOO BAD
me first
haha

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
damnit
now i seriously shall think abt gg for Belgium Homestay

-
BEEEG Sidenote: B, you know I still love you! I just have eyes, that's all! <3

NOT funny, daddy!

2007-03-23T11:40:00.000+01:00

A Skype conversation I just had with the dadster, while attempting to finalize the dates we're gonna be meeting in Basel:

Dad: Ok wait ah, let me check my departure flight with my secretary. Must make changes.

Dad (returning from lots of murmuring about changing flight plans, booking another night at the hotel, time in Zurich blahblah): Ok, you sort of heard the conversation right? I will try to leave after you so I can send you off at the bus station.

Me: Wah, sounds like you had to make a lot of changes to your original plan ah?

Dad: Ya, what to do. All just to meet you and pass you more money.

o_O Ehhhh, I want to meet daddy dearest because I miss him ok! I can starve for 3 days, I don't care! I just want some love from home, and *ahem* crashing for 2 nights in his hotel room is also not a bad option eh?

Thankfully, the dadster clarified later that he was JUST KIDDING.

:) Can't wait to see you Daddy-O!

Flanders in a flash Part 3: The only reason you should go to Brussels

2007-03-19T22:03:00.000+01:00

It's a personal opinion and most people wouldn't agree with me, but I don't think much of Brussels and the only memorable thing that I take away with me each time I step foot into the city for transit purposes is that all the railway stations there reek of pee. So naturally, I avoid going to Brussels for longer than a half-hour train transit.

But insert a live soccer match into the equation, and I can make an exception.

Pictures are grainy and the lighting was bad but what the heck, I had a great time. Even though we spent most of the first half of the match running around the circumference of the entire stadium trying to look for the right entrance and also hanging precariously off bars so we could see above the heads of ang-moh giants.

This is little me trying to tower over hugeass them.

Stealthily we managed to clamber all the way to the front during half-time, and we got an almost uninterrupted view of the rest of the game.

Freekick!

Mesmerized.

Equally mesmerized.

The score at full-time.

Thank you for the treat, lovey!

Flanders in a flash Part 2: Antwerp

2007-03-19T21:18:00.000+01:00

To Antwerp we set foot,

for filled stomachs and loot.

The city with the mostest

gave us memories of the very richest.

The moment we stepped out of the railway station, this nice old man came up to offer us directions and give us suggestions on places worth visiting in the whole mish-mash of a city that is Antwerp. I could have sworn he was planted there by the tourism office, but he really was an angel.

Olv Kathedrale. Here, I wished I had a camera lens wide enough to photograph the entire entrance in its carved spendour.

The nice old man pointed us towards a market which according to him was "an exotic market", but all in all it was just a huge food-cum-chapalang market. Which of course is totally fine by us, since all we seem to do is look for flea markets everywhere we go. And food is probably at the top of our mutual priority list.

Quite possibly the best churros I've ever tasted. Or maybe I've been too deprived of you char kway (dough fritters) so everything that tastes like crisp fried dough is heaven in my eyes.

Told you we eat everywhere we go.

Does this look like we're in the middle of March? Al'Fresco dining is coming 2 whole months prematurely in Belgium, and it's not a bad thing too. More sunshine, less prozac, innit?

And it was St. Patrick's Day when we were there too. Which explains the men in ~~skirts~~ kilts and the droves of revellers decked out in green all ready for an overdose of Irish brew.

I think the only official touristy thing we did was visit Rubens' House. Ruben being Peter Paul Ruben, the most famous painter Belgium has ever known, and also the late owner of the house which is probably the most inadequate museum you could dish out 4Euros to visit. It must have taken us all of 20 minutes to complete a full walk-through.

And unsurprisingly, we ended our little day-trip with yet another food-related adventure. And this particular episode saw us tirelessly hunting down what the Use-It guide hailed as the best hot chocolate in the whole of Antwerp. The Witzli Poetzli cafe could really use a discernable sign instead of a nude-coloured plaque with beige wording spelling out its famed name.

The hot chocolate was nice, but not nearly the best I've tasted. Sprungli's in Zurich still owns my universe; but if Witzli Poetzli's version can make theboy smile like this, then it will have to do!

And of course we did not end our day there. Us being us, we just had to make a detour to Brussels in the faint hope of catching the Anderlecht game even though the website said they were totally sold out. Sometimes, good faith does see you a long way.

Flanders in a flash Part 1: Ghent

2007-03-19T01:46:00.000+01:00

Theboy came, theboy left. And what a wonderful time we had. Or maybe I should say: What a wonderful time he gave me, since he did all the navigation and legwork. ;D

On Friday we went,
to the great city of Ghent,
with the sun's glorious rays.
Oh, happy day!

For our lunch in Ghent: quite possibly the best fries in the whole of Belgium. In my humble opinion. And also in the same vein of the afore-mentioned opinion, mayonnaise-free is the way to be. (Oooh, rhyming can be fun)

A double-scoop of creamy Italian gelato makes the gothic architecture even more charming, if you marry the two, hand-in-hand, mouth-to-eye.
And the river was just, teeming with people. By this I mean it was a take-your-sandwich-out-of-your-bag and stretch-your-naked-legs sort of crowd.

And look at who feels cheery today. In a Charlie Chaplin sort of way. (Rhyming! Charming!)

In a while
after rest and coffee,
will follow the photographic gems of all smiles.
So why don't you look later and see?

Berlin: As told by a Germanophile

2007-03-12T09:25:00.000+01:00

In between Belgium and Poland lies the great country of Germany. So to meet at midpoint would be the ideal situation for the both of us; and there naturally lay no better choice than the capital city itself.

(From L to R): temporary resident of Warsaw, Poland bored out of his mind after 6-hour train ride; temporary resident of Leuven, Belgium and owner of sore ass after 10-hour bus ride

DAY ONE

So anyway, I had my first cuppa (hot chocolate) and a good dose of the English fashion tabloids while waiting for him to arrive. Oranienburgerstrasse is a great place for bums like yours truly to keel over sweet treats and hot drinks.

And then off we went to sight-see. A forage to a couple of forgettable museums was the way to go because it was a Thursday and some museums in the area were open for free. (Please note that he was the one who spotted this ingeniously, being the typical prototype of the Singaporean who never loses out on anything free)

Most beautiful was the Berliner Dom, home of a really nice Lutherian church. We attended church there on Sunday, and taking Holy Communion for the first time in 2 months filled me with a lot of peace. Just look at the size of the Dom compared to my consequently-dwarfed boyfriend.

Said boyfriend also does all the navigation and planning of the daily what-to-do schedules, so that in his own words, "(I) won't have to lift a finger." And indeedly!

He says he just needs me to look pretty in pictures. (Eh, but I do more than that ok!)

We also realized on the first day that Germany really is the land of stylish cars. And of stylish number-plates to match too. We were on Merc-BMW-Volks watch every single day.

Lonely Planet Berlin foodguide compulsory pitstop #1: Monsieur Vuong's for jazzed-up Vietnamese. Which I later regretted because my beef noodles very nearly caused my zero-spice-tolerating tastebuds to hit the roof crying.

DAY TWO

More historic sites for the palate. Brandenburgertor was really striking, and I was glad that theboy insisted on getting up early to go there because I got a really good shot with no darting tourists walking right into my picture.

And I was even more glad for the early start because we didn't have to be part of the notorious long queue to go into the Reichtstag.

At the roof terrace of the Reichtstag. Can you spot me?

We walked all the way up in concentric circles and there really is no better view of Berlin than from the top of the Reichtstag.

But as you can see, I was too absorbed snapping away at the architectural fanfare that is the Reichtstag that I didn't even take a photo of the aerial view of Berlin.

And of course, off to a very good lunch. Lonely Planet Berlin foodguide compulsory pitstop #2: Swanky Italian food at 5.50 Euros!

Here I am, grinning like a cheshire cat with my ginormous plate of salmon fettucine with lobster cream.

And Weiming is also very visibly pleased with his seafood pizza. Coincidentally the most expensive item on the pizza menu that he could find, which I suspect was an astute move planned on his part because of the 5.50 fixed price. If only the waiters knew... These Singaporeans ahhh.

The night was spent at Checkpoint Charlie, the direct crossing point between West and East Berlin during the Cold War. We took a back-breaking 3.5-hour tour of the Wall Museum, and I emerged with the ability to carry out a considerably intellectual discussion with any scholar about the Berlin Wall divide.

Oh, and I (legally) purchased a piece of the Berlin Wall at the museum. A move which my dad said should not have happened because I should have just gone ahead to chip off a block for myself like the masses do. Crikey.

DAY THREE

More of the Berlin Wall; this time, of the real McCoy itself.

I realized how deeply the Wall divided the country. Life on both ends was so vastly different that people from the GDR became desperate to cross over to the Western side, either to be reunited with their loved ones whom they had been forcibly separated from or to liberate themselves from a life of regiment and pseudo-Soviet indoctination.

This is the part of the wall framing the Topographie von Terrors, which is a pretty good exhibition of political life within Germany through the ages. It's just next to the former Gestapo HQ.
Crosses to remember East Berliners who lost their lives while trying to flee over the Wall. Apparently, it was quite common for border guards to open fire when they spotted fugitives. On a brighter note, many did manage to get over with the assistance of 'Escape Helpers', a foray of fake IDs and ingenious methods of concealing themselves.

We headed to the Jewish Museum next for yet another leg-pounding 4-hour session. And it really was a treasure trove of history and traditions we found ourselves in. I do wish we had not spent so much time on the medieval parts of the exhibition (because it was mind-numbing, and not in a good way!), and invested more time into the Holocaust and daily-life sections instead.

This plaque was Nazi-commissioned and it translates roughly to mean "Jews are not served here", if my elementary German doesn't fail me.

I had a turn at this coin-grinding machine, presumably a Jewish innovation too.

And for my efforts, I was rewarded with a Moses Mendelsohn coin, which was really a squashed version of the 5-cent coin theboy supplied for my frivolity.

And look who they bethrothed me to. A great Jewish moneylender with a famed beard! Oh isn't he handsomely hairy?

And in Berlin, we do as the Berliners do. And have a go at their abundantly sausagey menus! We took a chance with the currywurst, which really didn't contain any real curry at all. Just tomato ketchup with a lot of curry flavouring not unlike the fine powder you find in Mami packets. In other words, it was quite yummy.

And of course, the local brew. (I still maintain that Belgian beer is superior, so there.)

Milk moustaches are distinctly property of the Got Milk? campaign and hence distinctly American. But this milkshake was from BK in Berlin, so cut me some slack there ok?

DAY FOUR

Our last day was spent traipsing through the Tiergarten fleamarket, and my inner-Phoebe really enjoyed it. And of course no trip with Weiming is complete without a visit to the football stadium.

Hitler had this stadium built for the Olympic Games in 1932, ironically hosting an event famously associated with its efforts towards world cooperation and peace before he embarked on his reign of terror.

And the greens that hosted World Cup 2006. My beloved Fernando Torres gave many booted winners on that pitch.

Berlin: All in all, great city, great sights, great food, great people. But then again, I might be biased because like some Francophiles hold Paris high up in their esteems, I think I am possibly a Germanophile1.

1 [Germanophile (jer-man-uh-fahyl)- n. One who admires Germany, its people, and its culture]

We're going to sing 'You Belong To Me'

2007-03-07T18:42:00.000+01:00

The Godfather VI, starring Yeo Junmei.

But seriously, I'm glad she took her bottle of Gueze very seriously. Because it's the one type of Belgian beer I can't put down.

There's really no better time for some best-friend loving; no better time than now.

CARNAVALE!

2007-03-07T15:41:00.000+01:00

The carnavale came to town on Saturday, and it littered the streets of Leuven with (too much) confetti, sweets, lollipops, and packaged waffles thrown by painted faces on multi-coloured floats.

Time sometimes stops when little boys catch up with the moment. Because the next it is gone and replaced by an impish act or two.

And this little fella was holding out his red cap to catch the goodies they were throwing at us revellers, but height has an advantage and I've never seen so many leggy teenage girls step in front of a kid to catch candy that really should find its way to his little tummy. He was delighted when I offered him 2 packets of waffles I had caught.

The Carnavale is for kids from 9 to 99. Bad aiming and too much zoom on my part, but I really like this picture :o)

And of course, what's a carnavale without an orange-haired Viking? ;D

In Berlin, do as the hostelites do.

2007-03-06T15:38:00.000+01:00

Some things I found online while searching for hostels in Berlin. [Credits to Hostelworld]

LettemSleep Hostel in Berlin offers the following:

1. Free Internet

2. NEW MATTRESSES!!!!!

3. Full kitchen

4. Super Funky Common Room

5. Supermarket, laundry & bakery just out the door

6. Free Coffee and Tea

7. Bring your own cd's, we'll play them for you, or enjoy our selection

8. Gorgeous staff

9. DVD's

10. Crazy adorable cleaning lady

11. Fantastic Vibrant Neighborhood with loads of shopping, parks, all night cafes and bars

12. No Curfew or Lockout

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These following 2 pictures probably fulfil #8, the promise of gorgeous staff. Doing gorgeous things like vacumming the dirt ground outside and attempting to do the Y-M-C-A.

And I suppose this shows us just how true #10 is: that the cleaning lady is crazy and adorable. Emphasis on crazy, methinks?

2007-03-05T00:57:00.000+01:00

Jun is here!

Separate your whites from your colours

2007-03-03T00:15:00.000+01:00

So Heidi and I had to contribute half a load of whites each to take up a whole machine, Nath had to wash a massive load of predominantly blue laundry, and Anja had to wash her carpet of a towel, so off we went to the laundromat for the worse half of the afternoon.

But not before running into the funniest form of vandalism I've seen thus far. Outside the biggest Delhaize in Leuven, which is a supermarket well-known for its cheap meats.

Besides amusing ourselves with a jumbo pack of chocolate waffles, Anja whipped out her camera, as did I, to document some fun with the washing machines (Don't they always look so happy climbing on top of washing machines with short skirts and knee-high boots in MTVs?).

And today is a good day for funny signs and labels. Ever thought the fable of the tortoise and the hare would be immortalised on an ironing machine? Or in this version, the snail and the hare.

Or in my warped little head, it looks something like this.

I think doing too much laundry is bad for your sanity. So Belgian landlords, please take pity on us poor students and start putting washing machines in the homes you rent out. Thank you.

Look David, who says I don't go out?

2007-03-02T23:49:00.000+01:00

I just like a night out with the girls much more than hitting the club circuit hard, that's all. ;D

The party at the Albatross club was not bad the other night, but Weiming was right when he told me most of the music they play is strange to us because it's all Eurotrance. I found myself quite amused when I was the only person at the club who didn't know how to chant the lyrics to every song quite like we do back home at Mambo.

Anyhoos, drinks and conversation made while lounging around is always fine by me. Heidi, Nath and I talked about everything from European migration to our disdain for female circumcision practiced in Africa, from laundry problems to impending plans to host the respective boyfriends when they come over.

This is Nathalie (Djamila Conrad. Yay I got the name right finally!) looking very pleased with her cocktail.

But she could also have been smiling so widely because she was in the middle of recounting how her boyfriend Mica appeared with a rose when she stepped off the train on a short visit back to Bern.

And because girls always have a separate stomach for nibbles and dessert,

Next week when their boyfriends come and mine doesn't descend on Belgian soil until a full week after theirs leave, I will be a lonely girl :(

Heidi Katri Marianne Tuomaala

2007-03-01T15:52:00.000+01:00

I had to write that because it's the first full European name I can remember by heart. (I will remember yours once I get past your Arabic/Swiss/exotic middle-name, Nathalie)

This is Heidi. She is older than me, more educationally qualified than me, much taller than me, much more photogenic than me, much more hardworking than me, has a larger appetite than me, drinks more beers than me, knows her maps better than me, and is always feeling colder than me1.

We met at a breakfast table and have been almost inseparable since. Well, that's not counting next week when her boyfriend Antti comes; we'll most certainly be very separable then.

1 And she comes from Finland. The average temperature there is now 20 below zero.

Many faces many places

2007-03-01T15:24:00.000+01:00

Min is from Shanghai. This picture was taken in Brugge where she spent the day very intently taking pictures with her SLR. She is taking a Masters in Urban Planning and in this programme she gets to go to a different European university for every new semester as well as on field trips to far-flung places. Where's the sign-up queue? I haven't seen her in half a month because she is in India with her class on a study trip.

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A perfect stranger with his not-so-perfect baggie lunch.

Some Italian men can cook.

And some Italian men can eat.

(That was a pretty damn good Aglio Olio, by the way.)

And some men need to learn how to pose decently in pictures. Uncle Bob, why are you always looking either sleazy or act-cute in photos? The peace sign belongs to ah-lians in neoprint booths, not in the company of a droolsome nutella crepe!

Freezeface

2007-02-25T13:36:00.000+01:00

It's not cold, but the wind can kill. And will kill.

Madness in High Street

2007-02-23T00:22:00.000+01:00

I'm back in Leuven weeping my eyes out at leaving English-speaking soil.

Not.

It's good to be back, it really is. I'm turning out to be pretty good at setting up life here: being domesticated by picking out a duvet that matches my bedspread, at coordinating my wardrobe to maximize space, at shopping for groceries at the cheapest supermarkets and being delighted at buying tofu for 10cents cheaper than the last time. I'm being careful not to make my room too homely or settle in too well though, because I don't want to make it too hard to leave all this behind 6 months later.

But I digress, because I really should talk about my time in London and York.

Hey Lulu, look who this is.

We were talking quite innocently like people who meet each other for the first time. Then insert Dunman High, Lulu and Teo Nanzun... and then we spoke like we knew each other for years! Peppering our conversation with "Yah I know, she's so crazy" and "He's always like that one la!" and lots of laughter and jabbing, of course.

Oh how I miss my Lulu.

No trip to London is completely without a visit to Camden. I was quite surprised that there weren't any shops openly selling magic mushrooms and medicine cabinets full of hallucinogens of varied strengths like I saw the last time I was there. The colourful jagged streets and even more colourful inhabitants are still there though. The Harajuku of London, I would call it.

And of course I visited Oxford Street with much glee. High Street fashion is not just an English thing; it's a everybody-everyday thing, and it's my thing. Case in point: Topshop is a whopping FOUR floors packed to the brim with everything you can think of.

And the good people at Topshop know they have a numbing effect on women's legs because us ladies seem to be able to walk on forever, but they also know that for men every single step is an eternity within the shopping mecca; and hence this.

(Better than a shoe shop, don't you think?)

Two years ago I was spellbound while watching Saturday Night Fever at The Apollo Victoria in South Kent. Two years later, I was completely held hostage by the cast of Wicked at the same theatre. Wicked is decidely, deliciously wicked! If you happen to be in London, this musical is worth your last 20 quid, I am not kidding you.

Dorothy is a stupid farm girl, you will find. She is completely inconsequential to the well-loved story. Now I'm a believer.

And yes, I did go nutso over the food. I see you shaking your head already Daddy! Don't read this part! It speaks much about my poor sense of control in the culinary department.

Borough Market's spoils.

This is Eleena with her monstrous chicken burger. She wasn't smiling very much after this picture was taken, and neither was her tummy.

Dimsum at Chinatown. There were too many baskets and plates of dimsum to cram into a single picture, so we shall make do with a picture of shiny happy (full) people after the thorough satisfaction of their chinese food craving. I think the waitress had quite a different idea of aiming centrally than what we expected. Sorry Kudus.

It was good fun to be in London for Chinese New Year. That saved me from getting all mopey about missing my grandparents and all the hustle and bustle back home. We had people all decked out in red too (I was inauspiciously clad in white, sadly neglecting to bring an article of red clothing along)

This is London's Chinatown, people. Packed to the brim in a way I have never seen even Singapore's Chinatown packed with people. Of course, if you compare the percentage of wide-eyed Angmohs to I'm-here-because-I-desperately-want-some-CNY-spirit Chinese like yours truly, you get a ratio of about 10:1.

And this picture, I like to call it IRONY.

I was quite tickled when I saw a blonde head emerge from underneath a particularly enthusiastic liondance costume.

And after much fanfare in London, York was a quiet stop before I headed back to Belgium. In particular we ate quite a lot, shopped quite a lot for accesories (right, Eleena?) and did painfully little sight-seeing and touristy things.

Eleena: That's the city wall. Don't bother, it's not much.

Eleena: There are gardens in the outskirts of York. But at this time they are all grey and flowerless. Don't bother, it's not much.

So okay, I don't bother. I just eat :)

I ate everything from train food

to traditional Sunday roast and Yorkshire pudding.

From handmade fudge that burnt an absolute hole in my pocket

to bangers and mash. Who doesn't like pub grub, every now and then?

England disappoints only in the World Cup, but they sure didn't disappoint me. I dragged 22 cartons of Muller yogurt back to Leuven and threw in a couple of tabloid mags to finish the leftover stray Pounds. All this English decadence, it is all very fine by me.

Nowt so queer as folk/Celest

2007-02-19T19:39:00.000+01:00

Note to everyone. I haven't gone west, I just have had no internet access the past 5 days and hence no contact with everyone who matters to me.

I'm on my little sojourn to the land of bangers and mash. So a lovely jubbly of a post I promise, once my feet touch ~~non-English soil~~ Belgian soil once more.

Till then, I shan't continue over-egging the pudding, lest you guys think I'm one sandwich short of a picnic.

Goodbye now! 'Ave it, the English way :)

Brugge

2007-02-14T18:42:00.000+01:00

February is a bad time to visit Brugge, because when there is such glorious beauty around you there should be equally glorious sunshine. And. not. grey. skies.

In any case, the company was ace and we got over the gloominess pretty quickly.

The Lake of Love, they say. Throw a coin into the lake and any love-related issues will come true. Very fervently I saw some believers throw money in. And it was all nice until the tourguide reminded us that the locals living around the river actually fish for coins people throw in at the end of the day.

Gothic architecture.

We walk in the rain, like the nuns walk in the rain.

I took so many pictures of buildings and churches, and the architecture is worth a big wow. But it all looks pretty grey and drab so I suppose I must make another trip back to Brugge in the summertime. For now, just try to imagine more colour.

Can you spot the tiny window?

But who am I really kidding? I'm not a sucker for photographing scenery and architecture; I'd rather take it in with my own two eyes. I'd very much prefer taking pictures of people and faces. These are some of the beautiful people I've met.

Heidi from Helsinki and Anja from Warsaw. Anja says to tell Weiming that Leuven is much better than Warsaw so he should come visit us here.

And this is Tillman from Germany. Such a gentleman he was; he bought 4 whining girls chocolates and that made us very happy, indeedly.

Anja, happy recipient of Tillman's chocolates.

And the rest of the pictures... I'm too lazy to post up. Heehee.

Brussel Sprouts

2007-02-10T09:22:00.000+01:00

I suppose I should attempt to blog about my little trip to Brussels, but Blogger is just whacked and has swallowed my previous 2 attempts with no remnants left for me to salvage. So I shall follow this with my third valient attempt not to lose another entry, for no rhyme or reason.

So was it Wednesday? Yes I think it was. Wednesday saw Gabriel Seet turning up at my door after a botched attempt at getting accomodation at my place; and on a whim I decided to go to Brussels with him and his French-spouting Parisian exchange mates.

For the record, this is Gabriel, best friend of the boyfriend and bad influence to all homopsapiens who have looming exams they should be studying for instead of going on a driving holiday.

And first up is Keith, who hails from the mighty US of A, and below him is Fernando from Brazil. They both respectively had exams 48 hours and 24 hours from the time they ended their Belgian sojourn, so really, Gabriel must have mighty persuasive powers to pry them away from their books and to the land of beer, waffles and pissing boys.

We drove into Brussels and headed for the Atomium. It looks rather phallic, doesn’t it? Don’t get me started on how many times one of us innocently interjected conversations with “Have we gone into that ball yet?”

Besides having been a Worlds Fair venue, the Atomium is famous for offering a full view of the entire city of Brussels. And a foggy day, like the day we were there, really isn’t quite an optimal time for said breath-taking panoramic view (It says so in the brochure).

A trip to the Cantillon Brewery made up for the foggy weather. We had a tasting of Limbic beers, which are brewed the traditional way by allowing yeast in the air to settle naturally during the fermentation period, instead of adding it in manually. Listening to the man explain this in a most lofty manner, I was quite inclined towards becoming a beer snob and turning an uppity nose towards the rather passé modern beers we have these days. Except Hoegaarden, of course.

Hops and barley. Raw beer, if you like.

Barrels and barrels of the good stuff! And of us, being very happy with, the good stuff!

Gueuez. A mixture of first-year, second-year, and third-year Limbics, and my, besides the big H, this has got to be the best-tasting beer in my book. Think Corona with a slice of lemon, then multiply the goodness 10 times, and you have, Gueuez.

We were happy campers when the time came for us to taste the beers. Well, all of us except Gab, who had a twisted face when the beer went into his mouth. I think he might actually share the same disdain with the boyfriend when it comes to sour things.

Here, we were drinking the Frambroise version of the Limbic, which I didn't like as much as Gueuez.

And of course, what’s a trip to Brussels without a snapshot of the Manneken Piss? It’s really small, so anyone could have missed it on the way to a kebab shop of some sorts for dinner, like I did! Thanks to Keith, I got my picture. Otherwise, I would have had to take a picture of the Manneken Piss bottle-openers they sell at touristy shops, which errrr, have the corkscrew extending out of the pissing boy’s nether region. Which I’m sure would not have made a very family-friendly picture.

And in case you can't see the pissing boy in action, here's an enhancement of what it should look like.

Aside from the minor mistake (pui) made in the billboards and by the good people at the information counter at Bruxelles Midi which almost saw me boarding a train bound for Paris, I arrived home safe and sound. And very glad to be out of the cold.

And now Gabriel is back in Singapore for Chinese New Year, and he says he will bring back pineapple tarts, all for him and none for me ;( Share the love, please!

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

2007-02-07T09:37:00.000+01:00

There are some things that don't take a million words to describe. Snow, to a awestruck Asian girl, is one of these things.

So at first it was fun, decidedly so because it was my first winterwonderland experience. Until I realized I shared many similarities with this car: blanketed in snow with nowhere to go. The 15-minute walk from the busstop to my place seemed like an eternity, and the stupid bus was late for an hour before that. Leaving Heidi and I stranded at the busstop with no cover.

So lesson to be learnt, kids: Snow is only fun when you're indoors, sitting in front of a roaring heater, looking at the sheets of white blanket everything else outside your window.

House Papa

2007-02-05T21:58:00.000+01:00

House papas make sure the house never runs out of toilet paper. And they also drag your 30kg luggage a good way down the Paters Oblaten hill while you lumber clumsily behind with your backpack, which is considerably lighter.

This is Kin Yew. The (my?) house papa. Here, he is posing serenely with the monster. It is a half-candid shot because he was supposed to look exhausted but totally misrepresented his intentions because he looks like an 80's chinese pin-up looking in the yonder distance.

This is the real deal. He was completely K-O'ed. But I'm not that mean okay, I repaid his kindness with 500 grams of bak kwa.

And house papas also let you stay in their rooms while they go away to Sweden. Not without instructions, of course.

Dear housepapa, what I want to know is this. Did you leave this note for me, or for our resident hunky Italian stag Giancarlo? Eh?

Paters Oblaten

2007-02-05T21:39:00.000+01:00

The thing about finding your temporary accomodation in the lovely abode of a monastery is that you're surrounded by serenity and you have no choice but to find company within your own means. Especially when said monastery is at the top of an unlit hill, closer to the farming community and far away from a student's version of humanity.

Living there for 4 days showed me more than versions of the erratic Belgian weather; it taught me that I am living in the bosom of God's creations. And that beauty is even more profound in the quiet.

Every morning when I wake.

Bare.

The road up. On a gloriously sunny day (Very rare, these are).

Blue, blue skies. What more can you ask for, really?

Not very cool things

2007-02-03T20:43:00.000+01:00

Oh my mama. I almost got burnt by the heater right next to the table. If that had happened I would have a deliciously sexy laceration on my upper thigh.

And I'm finishing up my stash of pineapple tarts exponentially faster than I planned to. Very soon I shall be kicking myself for my culinary folly.

And the worst jadaboohoo of the day would be that I bought a packet of frozen vegetarian mock-meat fillets thinking they were chicken breasts. They taste like rubber, but that might just be because I couldn't read the Dutch and French cooking instructions at the back of the box and I just threw it into the pan in a big show of agak-ness. From now on I will bring my dutch-english pocketbook wherever I go. Especially to the supermarket.

Home, for a little while

2007-02-03T07:35:00.000+01:00

Waiting for the bus. With a very helpful Kin Yew and my very heavy suitcase.And a bunch of ladies who didn't seem too happy with the long wait.

Grey buildings are everywhere.

I like street corners. There's just something about them that brings more colour bursting from behind their bent facades, and of course the people and cars gathering to turn the bend.

And of course, what's a student town without studentish types of transport?

Firsts

2007-02-02T20:51:00.000+01:00

First days are never easy. They're scary and dark and full of sharp corners that you will bump into if you're not looking sharp and polished.

Got into a bit of a fiasco while on transit at Frankfurt International, and since Mom and Weiming have had an earful of that already I shan't go into detail.

This nice Yugoslavian granny made the planeride so much better. I like her smile.

She reminds me of my grandmothers, both of them. I miss them very much.

And everyone at home too.

Two days,

2007-01-30T06:39:00.000+01:00

and then I say farewell.

And I haven't finished packing, haven't collected my remaining documents from the Embassy, haven't altered my 5 ridiculously long pairs of jeans.

Godspeed.