Unification Day

It's Unity Day today. Which means all shops are closed and it'll be a "two Sundays" weekend. Good news is restaurants, bakeries and cafes are still open so I won't starve. And seeing as it is an official public holiday, I decided on doing no work today and made my way to the Belgian Quarter.

I've been to the Belgishes Quartier (made that up, the Belgianised name I mean, not the place. The place exists. Really) twice before, but both times at night so can't say I was able to see much in order to give a comprehensive description of the area. So I set out wearing too many layers far too early in the year and battled my way against the gusty, blustery wind from Rudlofplatz to Brüsseler Platz where I stumbled upon a group of kids putting on a performance in front of a church for some sort of fete. As is evident from the name of the Quarter, this is where the Belgians decided to settle when they moved to Germany, lending a Belgian air to the place with their Belgian shops, cafes and restaurants. Could it get anymore Belgian? There are also many indie boutiques lining the narrow streets branching off from Brüsseler Platz. I suppose the most notable thing about the area is that the buildings have more decorative features compared with the usual bland and boxy buildings I've grown accustomed to here. A possible Belgian influence? Anyway, I wandered around a bit more, found a street with Asian restaurants (Chinese, Japanese and Thai mainly) and through a series of random and impulsive choices of streets to explore, somehow managed to return to my starting point of Rudolfplatz.

From Rudolfplatz, I decided to skip the usual route of heading straight down to Neumarkt and took a left turn somewhere very early on. It was the best impulsive decision I've made in a long time. I found a cafe called Royal Cupcakes (it was shut) that I'm going to take Saj to when she comes. A chocolate cafe called Hernando Chocolates (I think) that was also shut. Well basically it looked like it just sold chocolate related stuff when it was open. And a street called St. Apern Strasse lined with galleries. Just galleries, and more galleries and more galleries. And a glasshouse looking building with even more galleries. I'm definitely coming back next weekend. It was the greatest discovery I've made since I moved here. Or so I thought, until I stumbled upon this most lovely open-spaced, high-ceilinged bustling cafe/restaurant/bakery called Bastian's Baecker, which also had a cosy little alcove and an outside seating area at the back in their garden. They had the most refreshing mint tea, mainly because it was made with what looked like half a mint plant. And their cherry tomato-onion-omelette with fresh salad came in the regulation jumbo sized portion that I'm still not used to but happily ate. Sated and happy and after spending more than an hour marvelling at how beautiful and cute the three children on the opposite table were and trying to deduce the ethnic origin of their parents, who looked distinctly Latin American , I left. But not before I bought some stuff from their bakery for "tomorrow". I'm proud of my forward planning because that was THE best bread roll I've had since I came here. It was amazing. It was fluffy on the inside and firm on the outside. It had just the right amout of pumpkin and sunflower seeds without it feeling like biting into a trail mix. It had the right level of saltiness-sweetness. And clearly my enthusiasm in bread is slightly abnormal. But you try eating nutella on stodge and telling yourself each time you buy a different type of bread that it'll be different this time... As I have also lost the art of self-control, I don't know what I'll be eating for breakfast tomorrow. But I know where I'll be going next weekend.

This place is carb overload central. I may need to join a gym so that I can maintain this habit....

The Kölsch way

Ok, so in 13 days I will have lived in Köln for 2 months. The verdict: Awesome place to live. The vibe is relaxed and the natives friendly. There are bakeries everywhere. Millions of them. Shamefully I've succumbed to their freshly baked goods with their freshly baked smells wafting onto the streets, although I'm still not impressed by their "sliced" bread. I also had the misfortune of tasting a national delicacy (not from a bakery) called Reibeküchen. It was a heart attack wrapped in greaseproof paper with an apple mash thing that I would probably feed my teething child, if I ever did have a child, one day. It was nasty. Basically, it was some sort of potato mash that was mixed into some sort of flour mix and deep fried into flat circles. You get three of these circular coronaries and you eat it with the baby food apple mash. Convinced? I don't know how Corni suckered me into giving them a go. I didn't feel too good by the end of my first piece. I have no idea what possesed me to eat the second one. Probably high on artery clogging oil. I guess if it was like below 50 degrees and you needed some way of sustaining yourself, 2 of these would be enough for the day.....

What else? Köln is bike friendly and it's easy to get around the city on the trams. Cyclists are very keen to ram you down if you happen to step onto their lane for even a second. Which you can't help doing cos there are cars parked everywhere, many of which are on pavements. Foooor pedestrians. Jaywalking is against the law and I've gotten dirty looks from some of the residents when I try to introduce this London past time. Admittedly Köln is not one of the prettiest cities I've been to, like say Paris or Florence. Buildings are squarish blocky 50s architecture with regulation rectangular windows. Corni likes to remind me why they aren't so pretty. Like I had something to do with it? Despite the monotony of building designs, the apartments are unexpectedly beautiful and spacious. That's what Köln is like, not much on first glance, but stunning when you take a further look.

I'm still trying to learn German. Not getting very far. However, I can now say with confidence and mock German accent "Ich möchte eine torte, bitte." Translation: I would like one cake, please.

Laters/ später.

To the North

"What's a heath?"
"No idea. Let's check it out!" So we set the coordinates for Hampstead Heath on my bro's nifty sat nav and off we went to places unexplored. One of my bros was down for the weekend and since he had a car, we thought it would be nice for the Fantastic Four a.k.a moi and my trois freres to drive out somewhere, especially with the sun making a very rare appearance. Hampstead Heath is in the leafy borough of Haringey in North London. The houses here are red-bricked and big, with wooden window frames and pretty gardens. We parked on Sheldon Avenue where sizeable detached houses had architecturally distinct and modern front porches (and most definitely not according to borough regulations where I live). Except for one house, which looked like a 70s ski lodge. I wish I'd brought my camera. I considered knocking the door of one of the porches that I liked and ask if I could take a closer look. But then I noticed the cctv cameras that some of the houses had in the area. And then I looked at the four of us. We were a motley dressed crew: a hoodie with bigass kicks, a semi-hoodie with sparkly sandals, a hobo-uni student-needs a haircut, and one normally dressed guy. Maybe another day.

The heath turns out to be a park sort of thing. We decided to follow the unmade path route which took us through yellow meadows that looked stark and barren under the overcast sky. 10 minutes later it got cold and windy. 5 minutes later it started raining. Sigh.... So we turned back after our vigorous 15 minute stroll. So.... cinema? Shrug. Yeah. Guess so. The closest was a Phoenix Picturehouse, a small independent chain that shows mainly alternative and foreign cinema with occassional blockbusters. The earliest show was at 9pm. It was only 6:45pm. So we headed to Odeon in Muswell Hill.

"This must be where the yuppies live?" remarks my bro. "What's a yuppy?" asks another. I can see what he means, with the well tended streets, numerous well-established trees lining the pavements, redbricked semi-detacheds and redbricked terraced flats with private fire escapes. "No, I don't think yuppies exactly but definitely well to do people. Like Notting Hill." I wouldn't mind living in a neighbourhood like this one day. We passed 3 independent bookstores, an independent toystore, another independent store of some sort. Yep, mostly indie stores with the exception of Sainsbury's opposite the Odeon. We had 3 options: the latest Harry Potter, Bruno, and Public Enemies. It was an easy desicion made by two of us. Public Enemies turned out to be a way-too-long overdramatic piece of melodrama with gag-inducing lines and epic pieces of soundtrack that made you cringe. Michael Mann. What did you do?

Give them cake

A giant cupcake you say? In Covent Garden? Do I wanna go? Hell yeah! What do you take me for? Have I EVER turned down cake? According to Le cool London, there was going to be an unveiling of the most bigass cupcake. Luckily, I was heading out to central London anyway as upon surveying my wardrobe it occurred to me that I could quite easily dress like a 12 year old, but couldn't actually teach any in what I had. And seeing as Germany is quite a conservative and "proper" country, I had a feeling that my new place of employment would not appreciate me turning up in my hot pink patent adidas and 80's multicoloured-triangle patterned windbreaker.

I was expecting to find a gigantic cupcake that towered over me. It turned out to be a 1.25 x 1.2m artificial looking thing of which I couldn't see much of and had to climb onto a chair to just catch a glimpse, as there were burly mean-looking guards securing the immediate perimeter. What was in fact more impressive was the massive queue of people that snaked along towards Tavistock road, hoping to get a look and a bite of it. Many of them looked to be in their early teens. Don't they have school? Anyway, I had better things to do than to queue for cake, even if it was the most biggest record-breaking cupcake in the world. This included checking out the Covent Garden Real Food Market which I've been told is running till October.

There was a stall selling mini-cupcakes, yep that's right, mini- "I can't see it"-thumbsized-"I need a magnifying glass"- "one lick and it's gone" cupcakes for £1. Each. Each?!! Are you high?!! Forget that. I'm going to get my cupcake elsewhere.

Which I did later after getting bored bored of shopping, at a place called Candy Cakes located in the basement area of Covent Garden. The cake was good though half of it really was just sickly sweet icing that I had to scrape off. Dear Joma, will you please open a branch on this island?

Covent Garden shopping was getting old so I wandered towards Leicester Square and decided to head to the National Portrait Gallery. I was in luck. The BP Portrait Awards 2009 was still on. And many of the entries this year were outstanding. My particular favourite was the winner of the BP Young Artist Award (http://www.npg.org.uk/bp-portrait-award-20091/the-exhibition/prize-winners-home.php?prize_position=4). It was definitely a painting because up close you could see the paint (!), brushstrokes etc. But when you stepped back you couldn't help but stand there puzzled and think, it couldn't be?! It HAS to be a photograph. The definition, the lighting, the shadows....It was most incredible.

A very English Affair

I've finally downloaded my photos onto my computer. I have over 1300 to trawl through and it's making me travel-sick (is that the right word?). I miss the butterflies that were everywhere; the so easily available fresh pineapple juice that I loved way too much; the long long bus journeys where I failed to read Crime & Punishment or learn German with Michel Thomas because I was distracted by: the magical scenery, Steve's obssessive photo editing, Oreos, the incessant beeping of cars. I miss the heat, the amazing food that were obscenely cheap, Hannah's facial melodramatics, getting lost with Sophie, Tristan's constant whining..... I miss travelling! And sleeping an average of 5 hours each night since I got back probably ain't helping me get over the jet lag. In spite of all this, I still made it to Samira's big day. It was possibly the poshest affair I had ever been to.

The day started in Christ Church College  (for the non-oxonians/those who don't know, some of the scenes in the Harry Potter films were filmed in the Christ Church College, so yes, there are ALWAYS tourists invading the place), followed by a boat ride down the ISIS river, where my so far dormant hayfever unfortunately kicked into gear, and finally, a reception in Blenheim Palace, the birth place and vacation home of Winston Churchill.... I think..... I'm so bad with remembering these kind of facts. Saj and I once tried to cycle to Blenheim Palace one summer. We ended up heading towards Coventry. This is not surprising since even with the two of us (she being a real Londoner and me a semi-Londoner), we somehow still manage to get lost together in Central London....

Blenheim like Buckingham is huge and grand, with immaculately manicured lawns and beautifully tended gardens surrounding the palace. It is located in the lovely village of Woodstock, with its little stone cottages and houses, and a small town square. It is a 20-30 minute bus ride south of Central Oxford, though I never did figure out which bus it was one would take there. But why take the bus when you can cycle through the glorious English countryside in the summer? Anyway, Samira and Ed's wedding reception. Have I said it was very English? And very posh? It was also very elegant, with guests having dinner to the whimsical serenades of a harp. The newly-married couple danced their first dance to Louis Armstrong's "We've got all the time in the world". I was secretly hoping they would break out into a hip-hop routine midway to make things "street" but then realised this was Samira and Ed, super-posh and very most refined. They'd have most likely balked at the idea if they'd come to me for suggestions. And also quite possibly un-invited me. The opening to my thank you wishes in the guest book at the end of the night was, "Samira, who is this Ed guy?" Saj is reconsidering inviting me to her own wedding.

Boutiques and antiques

London is beautiful in the summer. Unlike Paris which is stunning all year round, London is a flower that needs the sun to blossom. And today was a gloriously sunny day with a gentle breeze. Perfect for doing what I should've done when I first got the wedding invite- acquire a suitable outfit and buy a gift, though to be fair I already had half the gift sorted out. I just needed a "box" to put it in. So I shed my recent hobo-traveller look, which I was starting to grow fond of, and donned my yellow trench and bashed up Rays. I was ready to face London and it's gazillion shops. Also I figured this would be the best way to deal with my jetlag and delay the onset of any post-travelling depression. So where to guv'nor?

The last time I went to Notting Hill was sometime last year. Couldn't see much of it as there was a carnival going on with lots of people covered in chocolate. Today was more civilised with people wandering in and out of boutiques and antique shops. Though I much prefer edgy Camden Town, I thought I'd have better luck with my task in the more refined Notting Hill. Made famous by the film of the same name, Notting Hill is now always swarmed with too many tourists blocking the narrow paths for photos, or just plain standing around and being an annoyance. Kinda like what I was for the last month. Nevertheless, Notting Hill is very pretty with it's pastel coloured terraced houses and numerous cafes, especially along Portobello Road.

I walked into a gorgeous shop called Yates Buchanan and met the lovely Katherine, who turns out not only to be from somewhere close to Cologne (her dad's from there) but also lived in Singapore many years ago. She gave me a whole load of dresses to try on. By the 12th gorgeous dress it dawned on me that a) the dresses I liked were a lot like the dresses I already owned, b) I was jetlagged and didn't want to try anymore dresses, and c) I still had to buy tix to Deutschland and hence ain't got the buckaroos to be splurging on pretty things, no matter how much I liked them, which was a lot. I said my goodbyes to the dresses and Katherine. A few doors down, was a lovely antiques shop that Christina would've loved, filled with wonders from China, Mongolia and Tibet. And! I found the rest of Samira's present. Result!

Feeling really amazingly good about my accomplishment, I thought I deserved a treat. So I strolled along Portobello Road, looked at old cameras, new clothes, quirky trinkets and there is was. Gail's. A french cafe with the most sumptuous delights that it took me 10 minutes to decide what to eat. Finally, I decided on the fruit salad as part of this detox programme I thought I may try out which involved eating a lot of fruits. I then ordered a blueberry-pistachio cake (blueberries= fruits) and a lemon drizzle cake (lemon= fruit). Unfortunately, instead of the blueberry-pistachio cake that I requested, they brought me a raspberry-almond cake. I was miffed. Until I took a bite. And the lemon drizzle. Di-vine. This detox programme is going to be so easy.

It's not over yet

Dubai is strange. They are building, well more accurately "were" building, until this whole recession thing hit the world, islands in the sea and lakes out in the desert. Why?! Now they have the famous Palm Island, which is largely uninhabited and mainly swarming with visitors come to goggle at this "8th wonder of the world", and the Atlantis Hotel with its 2500 rooms and 400AED mains. There have been complaints of murky seawaters from owners of private beaches bought on or alongside the island. It is worrying that the individuals involved in these major land-redefining projects have not considered the immediate as well as the long-term impact of reshaping the landscape on the local environment, the sea dynamics and the flora and fauna near and far. Money talks (when you have it) as the old adage goes.





I went to another shopping mall yesterday, in search of something to wear to Samira's big day. As stress levels rose and the sense of hopelessness slowly engulfed me, I was rescued. By a massage spa. Hurrah!! My heart soared and I decided to go there after grabbing my last ever freshly squeezed pineapple juice of this trip. I once had 5 in just one day in Vietnam. The experience left me abstaining from fresh pineapple juice for sometime. But then I ODed on fresh lime juice. Clearly, I have issues with moderation. Anyways, I had a "head- face" and "back-shoulder" combo massage. My body has been in a bad way for some time from lack of exercise, especially my shoulders, which didn't go un-noticed by the massage-lady. I should've also warned her about the bruises I have sans paintballing. But I forgot. I noticed the look of alarm on her face when she asked what it was that I did. I said teaching, hopefully, beginning next month..... I need to work on my "convincing" skills.

I fly back to mi casa Laandan later today. Thus will begin my arduous task of photo downloading, uploading, flickring, blogging, facebooking, tagging. And sadly it marks the end of this most awesome 45 days. But don't worry. There's still more blogging to be done. It's London baby. And I have 3 weeks to suck it dry.