We Lose A Day. Miles Loses His Lunch.

So here we are in Singapore. It's 4:30 AM. We're all up.

We arrived yesterday after a gruelling 20 hour+ trip that saw us fly to Hong Kong, wait an hour and then go on to Singapore. Along the way, we discovered something previously unkown about Miles.

He gets airsick. A lot.

The poor guy just could not keep anything down, and he had his face in a series of barf bags for the entire trip. We all felt really bad for him, as there was nothing we could do for him. Pretty much just dry heaves by the end of the trip, but hey, its good training for university. Laurel and I managed to get a couple of cat naps lasting 15 minutes or so each, but that nice refreshing REM thing remained elusive. All told we were up for about 36 hours. Isaac was fine. Slept well. Played video games. Tucked into several trays of food. I, on the other hand, arrived moderately delirious, and when I went to go freshen up a bit in the washroom, my eyes were so bloodshot, I looked like I had been on the tail end of a 48 hour crack binge.

We got into the hotel, which is basic, but nice. A little shower... A little brushing of the teeth... Good enough for a walkabout. We walked out into 89 degrees and 85% humidity. We grabbed abowl of noodles and a soup, exchanged some cash, and wandered about for a bit. Around 3 PM, we decided to "have a little lie down". I vaguely remember being prodded around 6 PM, but the long and the short of it is this: its the middle of the night, we slept for 12 hours, and now we're all up.

I opened my laptop and did a wireless network search, and after trying a few, I found one unsecured network, but I could only get a connection by standing on the bed and extending my arms fully. But we have a connection! Woo hoo! We got emails from our tenant on Bowen, who has just moved in, appears to be enjoying herself immensely. Another email from Krishnagopal, our friend in Cochin, saying that he thinks he has found a house for us. Furnished. Overlooking the sea in Fort Cochin. It belongs to a friend of his, and more details are forthcoming. Another email from Emma, who says that she got a room in the hotel that we are staying in in Mumbai, and she is on track to meet us there on December 5th. Could it be that all our plans are actually coming together?

So we made quite a sight. Laurel and I checking our with our matching laptops, completely naked, perched on the headboard ledge above our beds. Everytime we want to send or recieve anything, we have to raise our arms fully above our heads, as if praying to the gods of the internet. The fact there is a very large mirror across from us did not help...

So we'll wander about today to try to get used to the heat. Eat some good food. We found an awesome food court in our walk yesterday that we plan to revisit today. I promise to take my camera and get some good photos to post up.

Rob And Laurel's Bogus Adventure

Murphy was an optimist.

After a really nice reunion with my old friend Ken Felton and his wife Lynn (and two boys Casey and Quinn) last night, we were faced this morning with the crushing realization that checkout time was 11 AM, and we had no place to put the Dirty Dozen, or to the uninitiated, the 12 bags we're carting about with us. Laurel and I were faced with having to go right to the aiport and hang out until the checkin opened for Singapore Air.... at 8:30 PM. Then I had the brilliant idea of seeing if the proprietors of this little crack den would lock up our stuff for the day for fifty bucks.

Putting on my most charming smile, I pitched this idea to the person at the desk. A negative nod of the head was about the only response I was getting. "Can you cash a travellers check so I can pay the cab driver?", I asked. Another nod to the negative. "Sorry, no cash. Come back tonight when owner here..." So there we are, out on the pavement with all our stuff, waiting for the cab to come at 11:30. No cash and the prospect of 15 hours or so in the airport.

Then a flash of inspiration. I went across to the street to the neighbouring hotel, which happened to be run by Indian people. I explained my predicament, and they not only cashed a travellers check, but they let me store all 12 bags in a secure locker for 20 bucks. To boot, the proprietor said "If you are going to India, you must look up my cousin, who runs a heritage hotel. Wonderful food. If you mention my name they will look after you like royalty". She starts writing all the info out on a business card. I had to resist the urge to kiss a stranger. Suddenly, everything was looked after, our stuff was safe, and we were free to go wander about the town again, which we happily did.

So here we are in the departure gate for the flight to Singapore. We board in an hour and a half. American airports have the most absurd theatre going on for security. At the check-in for Singapore, the dude says that the carry bags cannot exceed 7kg, and we're only allowed one each. Of course every bag we had was overweight by a kilo or two. He actually made us take out the field mixer, some of the medicines, and some books, and then produced what looked like a blue shopping bag. We filled that with almost 7 kg of loose stuff! So now we have 5 carry on bags instead of the requisite 4. We got through security, after taking out three laptops and vials of medication, removing stinky shoes and divesting ourselves of loose change. My Pelican case of wireless mics, which must look like a Taliban detonator training kit, went through unquestioned, as did the two bottles of scotch in my camera case. Once we cleared the scanners, we took all the stuff out of the shopping bag and put it all back in the original containers!

If someone can explain to me why this happens, I would really like to know. It makes about as much sense as having us all hop on one foot, and rub our tummys and pat our heads while singing "Rule Brittania" at the top of our lungs. To be ritually humiliated by sparsely trained minimum wage workers in the name of national security is incomprehensible to me. And the PA just informed me again for the 20th time this hour that we are on "Homeland Security Orange Alert".

Anyway, we're nearly on the plane, we have all our stuff, and its nearly time to tuck into the scotch. It's going to be a long 20 hour flight...

Haute Cuisine With Kids In Tow

Last night was one of those nights that began fraught with peril, but ultimately ended up being pretty darn sweet.

We took our kids to a fancy restaurant.

Yes, against our better judgement we dressed up the chimps in button down shirts (myself included), jumped on the Van Ness bus, and headed down to Market Street to have dinner at the Zuni Cafe. We had stopped in earlier in the afternoon to make a reservation in person. The maitre d' looked me up and down, dressed in my stained hoodie with my two pet orangutans, and smiled and said "I can fit you in at 6:45". His body language, however, told me that he would prefer to fit us in after a certain region to the extreme south had frozen over completely.

So we arrive in the button down shirts, with Laurel looking nice and me with the bulk of the stains removed from my hoodie with a wet cloth earlier. After a brief wait, we are led through the restaurant to the most distant corner table in the place. I commented to the gentleman leading us that "this must be the childproof table, eh?". I received the same smile I got earlier. Now Zuni is a nice place. Huge wood oven. Open kitchen. Gorgeous bar. The closest table to our demilitalrized zone table was occupied by a very elegant looking couple in their late 50's/early 60's. They were about halfway through their starters. Their faces visibly fell as we were led past them to our table a few feet away, as they realized that their quiet and elegant evening out was about to be invaded by the simian exhibit at the San Francisco Zoo. I smiled at them and made some lame joke about their imminent need to wear protective clothing, and they wanly smiled back.

So we began our training seminar on how to behave in a nice restaurant. Inside voices only. The napkin gets shaken out and laid on your lap. The small fork is for your first course. Sit up straight. A little shaky at first, but they started to kind of get it. We ordered some raw oysters, which, ironically were from BC. They came with both a lemon wedge and a lovely mignionette. The older couple actually stopped eating and stared somewhat slackjawed as Miles slid a whole raw oyster into his mouth and pronounced it "Excellent!". Isaac, who declined the actual oyster part, insisted on loading up an empty shell with a combination of lemon juice and mignionette and sliding that down his throat. "Yummy!"

Then came the starters. Laurel and I both had the house cured anchovies with celery and reggiano with black pepper. The boys split a starter of serrano ham and braised fennel. We ordered a nice local gewurztraminer, and about halfway through our starters, Laurel put the glass under Miles' nose and asked "what do you smell?". "Grapes!" came the reply. "And spices!" We did the same for Isaac, and then insisted that they both have a teeny sip to see what it tasted like with the ham. Enthusiastic approval, despite being mildly illegal.

After a little time went by, the waiter came out to apologize for the delay in the delivery of the mains, and said that the chef would like to buy us all dessert to make up for this incredible faux pas. I didn't mind the wait actually. North Americans tend to eat too fast anyway.
Then came the mains. I had some seared scallops with braised cabbage in a mustard sauce, the boys shared a ricotta gnochi dish, and Laurel had a spaghetti with chanterelles, although there was a mixup and they first sent out a fish dish. All told, quite tasty and we were actually able to suppress our regular urge to yell at the kids. It would seem that the apes were evolving into humans.

All through our meal, the neighbouring couple kept looking over at the boys. As they were getting up to leave, this very elegant woman sidles up to our table and said, in the most heartfelt way imagineable, "I had begun to think that our civilization was coming to an end, but seeing this heartens me". She seemed genuinely thrilled that we were taking the time to try to educate our young dudes in the way of fine dining. I'm not ashamed to admit, that at that moment we felt kind of proud of ourselves. Of course that feeling evaporated moments after they left when the waiter arrived bearing crayons, and encouraged the boys to cover the table in kid art. Which they did. Actually we all did. A moment of evolutionary snakes and ladders...

The Tacky Tourists

Woke up early this morning to check on news from Mumbai. It looks like things will calm down over the next few days, but shit... 150+ dead and 300 injured. That's pretty nuts. I've got emails in to our Indian travel agent to see what the airport status is, and I'm hopeful that we won't have to change our plans much. I figure that in a week, Mumbai will be the most secure place on the planet.

We were in for quite a shock (as opposed to shiok) last night. Turns out that Americans are damned fond of their turkey. A little too fond, if you ask me. Thanksgiving is a really serious holiday around here. So much so, that when we went out in search of food last night, we were greeted with block after block of closed eateries and businesses. We walked with the kids for a couple of miles until we finally found a mediocre Chinese place to have an overpriced snack and a beer. Mind you, after walking the hills for a couple of miles and searching for an open establishment for over an hour, it was the BEST place in the world to eat. I'm not exaggerating. The sign on the door said just that. 75 bucks lighter, we took a cab back to the hotel and crashed pretty early.

This morning, we transformed from the worldly hipsters that we fancy ourselves to be into tacky tourists. I even wore my camera around my neck. The only thing missing was bermuda shorts, socks with sandals, and his and hers hawaiian shirts. We went down towards the Fisherman's Wharf area, despite every cell in my body screaming at me to run in the opposite direction, and bought some 3 day Muni transit passes, which let us ride the cable cars, busses, and trams all we wanted. Pretty cool actually. Cabs all add up, and dammit, there's a wee bit of Scottish blood flowing through these hardened arteries. The cable cars, while being the quintessential tacky tourist trap, are actually a great way to see the city. Much faster than walking, and slow enough to appreciate the suberb architectural details of so many of the buildings here. Laurel and I would love to have a pied a terre here, if we could ever afford it.

Breakfast was at a crappy diner, but we travelled using our new passes to the Castro District for lunch at a Mexican eatery that Laurel and I knew from a previous visit. What a great area! Beautiful old row houses with citrus trees. Funky shops. One had a Christmas display in the window that featured several extremely buff Santa's Elves with power tools in various stages of undress. Its great to see a place where people of all persuasions feel free and comfortable enough to be themselves. Or be elves... Walking through the Castro area, its hard to imagine how Proposition 8 shamefully passed, effectively banning gay marriage in the State of California. I thought this was the most liberal state in the union!

Tonight, we have reservations at Zuni Cafe, which aside from Tuscany Restaurant on Bowen, which is sort of a second home to our family, will be the boys introduction to fine dining. This is a really cool place on the edge of the tenderloin district. We may look a little rough around the edges when we arrive, so I hope we are not denied entry for having the appearance of Gypsy ancestors. More on that dinner tomorrow...

And.... They're Off!

The good news is that the house is the cleanest it has been since we moved in. The bad news is that we're not there to enjoy it!

The picture of the bags is everything that we're taking for 7 months. 12 pieces of luggage affectionately referred to as the "Dirty Dozen". The other photo was taken moments before our good friend Julie showed up to take us into Vancouver. But first... more injections! We literally had to chase poor Isaac around the doctor's office, as he ran out the door crying. Foolishly, he backed into a corner, sobbing uncontrollably. I picked him up, and held both his hands whilst the doctor quickly punctured him and topped him up with the last of the Hep B vaccine. Poor bugger.

While waiting in the ferry lineup, we had our 15 seconds of fame as Julie Andres (different Julie. There's a bylaw on Bowen that states that every third female must be named Julie) , the editor of the local paper, snapped a couple of photos for the venerable Undercurrent. It was a pretty strange feeling to sail off on the Queen of Capilano, not expecting to return until July.

The weird feeling we experienced leaving was nothing like the one we got when we turned on the news in our hotel room in Vancouver. Massive terror attack in Mumbai, as 100 hundred people or more are killed and hundreds more injured. The usual Indian election time bullshit that goes on, only this time the numbers of dead and injured were a little higher than usual. This morning, on the way to the airport, the cab driver laid out a very impressive conspiracy theory as to who was ulitmately responsible. His claim was that political groups regularly hire mercenaries to perform violent acts in order to encourage ill will between Hindus (80% of the population) and Muslims, all for political gain. His claims were bolstered by the fact that his uncle was the mayor of Delhi, and that he had shaken the hand of Indira Gandhi not once, but twice. Come to think of it, he also seemed to have a pretty good idea who killed her too. It seems that the Sikhs were once again the scapegoats in the whole affair. I nodded, and dared not disagree. Not at 5:30 AM and without the benefit of coffee.

We finally found the right check-in line, and managed to get the Dirty Dozen checked in and carried on. At last, we're off! Well... no. "Uuuuuuuuuhhhh this is your captain speaking. Uuuuuuuhhhhh... it seems like there is too much fog in San Francisco to land, so uuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh.... we're just going to park here off to the side for a bit until uuuuuuuuuhhhhh.... we get clearance to take off." And that we did. For about an hour and ten minutes. The flight was uneventful, as any good flight should be. Nary a pretzel to be had though, as bad sandwiches and overpriced cashews were only available for sale. So we get into position to land and then we hear "Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh this is your captain speaking. Things are a little backed up down there because of the fog, so uuuuuuuuuhhhhh... we'll just be doing some figure 8s up here until uuuuuuuhhhh.. some of the congestion clears out". That was good for at least another half hour.

Finally we landed, and all of our gear appeared to survive the trip, which next to my kids, was my biggest worry. While we were waiting for the luggage, the PA system kept blaring "Homeland Security Orange Alert!!!". I wondered to myself if that was anything like "Double Secret Probation" in National Lampoon's "Animal House". Made about as much sense. A cab ride into town, we were checked into the hotel, a delightful little remodelled crack den known as the Redwood Inn.

Right now everyone but me is napping and trying to make sense of the fact that we're a long way from home, and recent events promise that it's going to get a wee bit stranger before we're done. Our biggest problem right is to figure out what to do about dinner!

Shiok!

'Shiok' is commonly used in Malaysia & Singapore.
It conveys a feeling of strong physical/emotional pleasure, excitement or tingling taste buds(when used with regards to food), as in "Wow! This chilli padi/wasabi is damn SHIOK!"

We went into Vancouver yesterday for Laurel's dad's memorial service, which was a very touching affair with some moving tributes by Laurel's brother Dan, and a few of Ed's professorial colleagues. Ed was a respected scholar, and it was wonderful to see how much he was loved and missed by so many people. Laurel and the rest of the family went for a private interrment ceremony, and I drove the boys around for a few hours doing errands and such. I took them to the Pink Pearl for a Dim Sum treat for lunch. Either my tastes are improving, or the old Pearl is showing its age. The Dim Sum was oily, and cold to room temperature at best. Perhaps it was an off day. Or year.

After the reception, we were in the mood for something uplifting, so we both turned to each other an said "Orchid Delight!" in near unison. This is a brilliant little restaurant that I've been going to for well over a 14 years. The original location was in a weird little strip mall next to a Mac's convenience store and a donut shop. It was within walking distance from my old office at Electronic Arts, so it was a regular lunch stop, with sometimes 2 or 3 visits in a week. A few years ago, they moved out, and a terrible cry of sorrow was heard across the land. Where else to go for laksa? They resurfaced a couple of years ago at a new location on Burrard, just north of Broadway. Same owners, same cook, nearly identical menu. Huzzah!

Pauline and Michael are the owners. Pauline does front of house, and Michael is the cook. Many years in Malaysia and Singapore inform the absolute authenticity of Michael's cooking. It's a real family run gem. Over the years, we have become friends, and I've gone from being a long haired overworked skinny solo geek to a guy who brings his entire family in to dine. We always get a warm welcome and hugs, and when he can, Michael always makes a point of coming out to sit with us and visit to catch up on family news. Very sweet people.

So last night, we had the fabulous deep fried tofu with chili and peanuts, Char Kway Teow noodles, Ayam goreng chicken, and beans done with chili and shrimp paste. Simply awesome. I've been trying to find a way to give this place some props for a while, and now I have an excuse.

Go see Pauline and Michael. Tell 'em Rob and Laurel sent ya'.... It's damn shiok!

ORCHID DELIGHT
2445 Burrard Street, 604-731-0221.
Open Tuesday to Saturday 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m., Tuesday to Sunday 5 p.m. to 9 p.m.

Drawer Lint And Yorkshire Pudding

Cleaning. Organizing. Packing. 3 words that strike terror into the hearts of most men. A man that can lasso a moose with a rope he wove himself from cedar bark ripped from trees with his bare teeth can be reduced to tears at the prospect of removing every last bit of lint from every drawer in the house. At least I can. And for the record, I was exaggerating a little bit about that moose stuff. It was a Douglas Fir, and not a cedar.

We're packing stuff up, and its irritating. I'm finding stuff I had forgotten I had, and that's God's way of saying "Dude, you have too much shit...". Perhaps it would have been phrased differently in the Old Testament. "Take thine posessions, and packeth they neatly into vessels of the finest cardboard, lest ye be anointed in the dung that be flungeth from thine enemies, in my mercy..." You get the drift. We have to get everything into boxes and locked up in a room by Tuesday night for our incoming tenant, who arrives from Denver on December 1st. We have most of our other stuff pretty much packed up, except for a change of clothes each. Electronics gear aside, its going to be New Adventures In Asceticism, because we're taking a toothbrush, change of undies, shorts, and the clothes on our backs. Begging bowls are optional.

In the ongoing effort to divest the freezers of their contents before we flee, I am preparing a venison roast from the deer I got last year. In addition, there are roast potatoes, roasted beets in balsamic, carrots, brocolli, and...... Yorkshire Pudding! Sometimes, the comfort food is just the ticket to combat the rain and the prospect of boxing up EVERYTHING.

Speaking of comfort food, I came across a great web site about the food in Singapore. If it sounds like I have an obsession about Singapore, I do, but its nothing like the obsessed people on this site, Singapore Food Site. There is a great "Hall of Fame", as well as a "Hall of Shame" for Singapore hawkers. Down towards the bottom is the real gem. Mom's Recipes. All the Hawker stall classics are there, and the recipes are truly authentic. Check it out!