Tree houses in Borneo

My sister and niece have recently been to Sing to visit and during this time we took a couple of days off to holiday in Borneo.
We stayed at a rather basic but interesting resort called Permai Rainforest Resort near Kuching chosen by yours truly because they had tree houses and the thought of sleeping among the tall trees was just too good to miss. So was the noise of the birds and crickets who also live high up in the canopy and have to let everybody know what they are doing at any given time. Clearly I had not taken into account the endless chirping, buzzing, hissing and whatever else these little critters do so the result was a string of sleepless nights made almost delirious by the itching caused by sand flies, nasty little creatures, almost invisible that feasted on my sister and I and totally ignored my niece and husband. Now I am looking at websites to see how their bites can be prevented but it seems that covering up and avoiding going out at night are the only things one can do. I would imagine that having conquered the technology that allows us to go to the Moon a ridiculous bug bite would not be too much of a problem but, as usual , I am wrong.
The tree houses are built on stilts, 15 m above ground and one must climb 3 flights of stairs to get to the top which is a bit tricky when pulling luggage behind you and even more of a nuisance when you realize you have hauled the baggage up the wrong tree house one being a double room and the other a twin room on account of my nocturnal wiggle worm niece. So after spending a good 15 minutes exchanging luggage under the bemused watch of the locals we headed off to the Rainforest cafe for a good dose of pineapple rice served in half a pineapple and a snack of dry salted small fish and peanuts. After lunch a rest was in order. The tree houses have one bedroom, a small table with a fridge and coffee making facilities and a bathroom. The best part was the balcony overlooking the sea, half hidden by leaves and branches. One afternoon a group of silver leaf monkey camped right outside our window and we spent a good half hour taking pictures and enjoying their antics. One of them had a baby that is bright orange in color when born and gradually turns gray after 4 months. In the morning we would wake up and just spend some time looking out of the French doors towards the sea, bliss!
We only had one doubt regarding the tree houses. They wobbled a bit causing a bit of sea sickness and this was especially bad when one person was in the shower or brushing their teeth. The mere action of moving left to right and back with a toothbrush would cause the whole tree house to shake and while this was not felt by the shaker, the "shakee" would cling to the bed trying to avoid falling on the floor. Geckos were always present, guarding the house like miniature police dogs and pouncing avidly on mosquitoes and the like.
Food wise the resort always seemed to had "pinished item" causing us to have at least 4 alternative options from a rather limited menu when ordering food but when we did get it it was good and plentiful if at times wrong due to the fact the chef spent his time singing while listening to his music instead of listening to the order. Still I would definitively recommend this resort if simple and cheerful are your thing.

The thing about Fish Spas

I am back after taking care of our first visitor (you know who you are!) and ready to write about our adventures. We took some time off and went to Malaysia for a week on the beautiful island of Langkawi were we spent a couple of nights in a swanky hotel on the east coast and then moved to a delightful boutique hotel on the west coast. Langkawi is really a gem with lush vegetation, soaring mountains and lovely beaches. If I had to be picky I just might say that the water was not really inviting as it was really murky but for all I know it could have been the season or just the area we were visiting. In any case a dip in the Ocean was always welcomed. During our stay we took a couple of tours and walks and I will tell you about some.
On our last day we walked along the beach looking at tourists scrambling atop banana boats and being whipped about. Why anyone would want to be subject to a 10 minute hard bounce in the water on top of a yellow long sausage like float beats me but then we all do silly things on holiday which is why it is a holiday in the first place and why it is so much fun!
Anyhow the day was a gray one and it drizzled on and off the whole morning so after a while we got tired of watching silly tourists and headed towards the village center lined with cheap sarong shops, massage parlors and restaurants. Max then spotted a Fish Spa.
Since I have arrived in Sing I have seen Fish Spas dotted here and there but I have been too chicken to try them out. I asked Steph to try them with me but she told me I was a banana and what was I afraid of so clearly I was not going to get any support there.
So when Max said we should go in the shop I giggled nervously and looked around me with wild eyes for means of escape but naturally mom immediately jumped up and down with glee and boldly entered the tiny shop so my hands (or rather feet) were tied.
In the shop there were 5 small tanks and above them some soft seating. The Spa owner made us take off our shoes and wash our feet , sit on the benches and then one after the other lower our calves in the tanks. Immediately our feet were attacked by hundreds of tiny black tadpole like fish that started nibbling at our dry skin and in theory removing all parasites (?) and rotten (?) skin, promoting our immune system (?) and longer life (???). This is at least what was written on the Spa brochure that I was reading with intense concentration to avoid thinking about those little hungry piranha-like mouths tickling my feet. I was finding it hard not to kick all these little vampires out of the tanks and had to concentrate hard because the truth is that I cannot stand having my feet touched, in the same was as I cannot stand the idea of a massage by a stranger, (clearly if said stranger were Hugh Jackman well then it would be a TOTALLY different story). I only had one spa treatment in my life and I hated every second of it wanting to escape the candle lit, harp music filled chamber but not being able to in view of a) being naked, b) being covered in black, smelly goo -supposedly algae of some sort- and c)being wrapped in film like a horrible turkey....never again I promised.
Now the fish thing was not that bad and though it felt more like hours after only 5 minutes the torture was over. My feet were still there and I suppose all the parasites have been gobbled up so all in all it was an adventure.

The importance of good store layout and math!

Dear readers,
following the sad news we received last week I have been off line as I did not have the strength to find humour and light in my days. However I would not be doing justice to and honouring a beautiful, brave and generous girl we were fortunate to know but now lost by feeling sad and empty so I decided to come back today.

Last Saturday Max and I decided to go looking for plants to decorate our flat and the closest garden centre I could find was about 10 minutes away by bus. So, full of expectations, we hopped on n.15 bus towards Marine Parade, the avenue closest to the beach where most expats live and where the big, swanky condos are. The beach however is not really usable due to the presence of stinging fish and jellies and transport is a bit iffy if one does not have a car which is why Max and I have found our flat in a different part of town. The garden centre is just at the end of the street and we were greeted by luscious palms and massive orchids, cheap as chips but I was a bit disappointed by the lack of variety. In reality in the UK you have a choice between garden plants and house plants and also conservatory plants so you can almost cover any possibility but here there is one choice, tropical semi shade or tropical full sun which really reduces the offer. We only wanted to get an idea of what was available so after 20 minutes we thanked the owner and walked to Parkway Parade, a nice shopping mall just perfect at 12pm with 35 degrees and 90% humidity out in the open.
Max wanted to check out a DVD reader and a table fan before lunch so we crawled upstairs to the 3rd floor to visit Best Denki, a rather big appliances store. We aimed for the electric fan section and walked right in front of a cooking demonstration. The chef was promoting a new teflon covered pan and gently frying sliced garlic. Clearly the consequences of such operation had not been assessed properly and as the cooking area was right in front of the fans area, which, to our delight were ALL working, within seconds we were cloaked in burnt garlic fumes. Teary eyed and a bit intoxicated we left in a hurry and came to rest in front of a big supermarket on the same floor. For reasons unknown to god and men said supermarket carries durian fruit so we actually went from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. We ran to the escalators and finally found some respite within the arms of a Dim Sum restaurant where we managed to get into even more trouble.
To all math detractors, please remember than numbers are important and actually essential to life. Numbers are unique and universally recognised, a language in its own right. Numbers are there to count items and also to identify them like barcodes do or the numbers that appear on multi language menus in a Dim Sum restaurant close to the name of the dish.
Having scrolled down the whole menu in seconds I dutifully wrote n. 14 on the slip of paper provided for such use. N. 14 identifies roast duck and those who know me also know what a sucker I am for duck. Max went back and forth through the menu changing his mind constantly until the waitress appeared and in a hurry jotted down n.16 = roasted char siew and Manchurian pork, a delicately roasted belly of pork with juicy crackling .
After our rice order a strange looking dish with grayish, tubular, diagonally sliced boiled grub appeared and we both looked at each other a bit miffed. It certainly did not look like roast duck or pork and we immediately started having a go at the photos on the menu and the way the real thing always looks a million times worse than the picture you use to choose your order. Then my roasted duck appeared and we agreed the abnormal dish was actually the pork Max had ordered. Vaguely piqued we decided to eat it anyhow as by now we were hungry but at the end of the meal I could not help but ask the waitress if she really thought the dish she had served was roasted pork. She looked at me strangely and said that in fact it was boiled pig intestines. Fuming I sternly told her we did not order pig intestines but roasted pork n.16 on the menu. She then produced the order slip and funnily enough the number written by my deranged hubby was 15 equal to ...pig intestines. In his hurry he had gotten it wrong and confused the whole thing. So once again, to all those who despise math please be aware of how numbers can deeply affect your life and foodie happiness.

The Durian experience

Well, as promised some time ago, now that I have my own home I decided to try a Durian fruit. Luckily for me (not!) there is a little stall that sells the offensively smelling fruit just round the corner so Max and I decided to buy a small packet of freshly peeled fruit from the vendor who was trying to sells us 5 packs for the price of 3....wonder why!
The knobbly and spiky fruit is cracked open to reveal creamy coloured segments, like those of an orange about 15cm long. The segments are covered in a very thin membrane. I thought the smell would vanish once the fruit was peeled but when we entered the lift the smell managed to saturate the air within seconds and we had to hold our breath until the 5th floor.
We were feeling very guilty when we got out of the lift and hoped nobody would use it straight away.
I immediately took the packet to the maid's room (might as well use it for something if only to store Durians) and we went back to the lounge to decide our strategy.
Not much of one as Max was still reeling from his tummy ache (see previous entry) so he decided I would try it and let him know what it was like.
I took the wrap off and prodded one segment with a knife. The texture was like soft butter or cream cheese and cannot really be cut off as it become mush when sliced. So I took a little piece with my fingers opened my mouth and.....ate.
Well, the smell of vomit and sewage is not representative of the flavour so this is an improvement however the texture is a cross between cream cheese and curdled milk and it sticks to one's mouth in a rather unpleasant way. There is a hint of sweetness and a sickly vanilla flavour, you know which one right? The artificial vanilla that just tries too hard to be like the real thing and it's just not good!
But apart from that it really is tasteless and nothing to shout about. The smell however lingers in the mouth and you must drink something strong to cleanse the palate.
Max clearly supported me during my culinary adventure by making faces and telling me I was smelling like rotten meat and inching a little further away on our sofa bed which is not that large to start with meaning he ended crouching on one end and giving me dirty looks.
Needless to say the rest of the packet was duly disposed of down the rubbish chute.
And.....I am inclined to say that my Durian days are over.

We moved!!!!

And.....the move is over. All this fuss and preparation and now we are happily settled in our new home. It's strange to see one's possessions in a different environment and in a way it feels odd but in another it gives a whole new meaning to the phrase so dreaded by our male counterparts..... " I want to rearrange the furniture, dear!". The movers arrived on time, unloaded all our boxes, made me count each one (I found out I had 71) and within 3 hours everything was deboxed, arranged in some way in the flat and ...they were gone leaving me with piles of plates and glasses I did not know where to put due to the fact my kitchen is now barely existing but with a mega diner-cum-lounge I do not know how to fill. Not a problem really as mummy is coming over at the end of the month and we are going to hit all the antique shops. Trying to get some sense of normalcy I have devoted the guest room to horror area where all my clothes are piled on the floor waiting to be washed and aired after 3 months in cardboard boxes inside a metal container along with stuff I do not know where to place in this new environment meaning that if I put it away now I will not find it when I need it. This means the rest of the flat looks relatively decent. However it's the annoying but necessary things in life I really need such as storage for linens and towels and the hated but essential shoe cabinet. Here they tend to leave their shoes on a rack outside the property but I find it a bit messy so I do not have much of a choice and I must find myself a closed cabinet. So just when I thought my Ikea days were behind me I found myself going through the enormous shop's market place along with other desperados in search of a solution that was not too expensive or did not take 6 months to deliver. We ended up with a chest of drawers due to the total lack of clothes storage in this flat (though it is well equipped with the ever present reinforced concrete bunker), a series of shelves to put in the maid's room now turned into a larder and curtains. We had decided we would not spend more time than strictly necessary in the shop but these clever Swedes know how to catch you every time and we spent 3 hours roaming the floors in search of the perfect shelf....which we actually found in the end. After that it was mounting the stuff and Max feigned a tummy ache with frequent visits to the bathroom (for the authentic touch!) so I ended up working on the devilish contraption myself with outstanding results. Now I am waiting for the locksmith to change our locks and tomorrow I will meet the condominium administrator. Furthermore I have equipped myself with rollers, brushes and paint and have decided to redecorate the entire flat. A bit ambitious I know but while the flat looked decent enough when the previous owners were still here now the walls look tired with furniture marks in places so a fresh lick of paint should do wonders. Back to work!

Size is not important when defending your wicker chair

It's a balmy Saturday evening. The bbq is going and today we are cooking a chicken along with some lamb sausages and a pineapple for dessert. We first had bbqed pineapple last night during our romantic date at the Halia Bistro at the Botanic gardens. After a superb appetizer and main course we finished the evening off with a lush dessert. A ginger laced nougat parfait with bbqed pineapple. The contrast of sharp, crunchy and sweet was absolutely divine and we left knowing I would have to repeat this once we finally enter our new home. Clearly I had to let my French sister know about this and wrote to her this morning as I know she will try and reproduce it as fast as I can say "Zut!".

Still, today is our last bbq here at the residence and we duly bought a pineapple to try out. I am sitting at the table while Max is at the bbq and a small leaf falls on the back of the chair in front of me. I barely register it but then I notice the leaf moving upwards and I get curious. It’s not a leaf at all but an inch long praying mantis crouching on its long thin legs, bright green in colour. “So cute” I think and lean over to take a closer look. Immediately the little critter lifts itself in all its 1cm height and starts undulating very slowly side to side glaring at me through his bulbous yellow eyes. I move to the left and his gaze does not falter, he turns his head, slowly, deliberate, sizing me up. “Well” I think “he must realise there really is no match” but I am a bit apprehensive to be out stared by this insect. It’s a photo opportunity and I pick up the camera, set it to macro in view of the size of my subject and slowly place it on the chair. My leggy friend immediately starts to run towards the camera lifting his praying arms in a clear attempt to scare it off. Taken aback I remove the camera and stare at the aggressor a bit puzzled. Time to call in the white hunter so I whine and make small whimpering noises of distress and finally get Max’s attention. I explain my predicament and immediately get told off for being a scared little lady, which in reality I am so I happily give him the camera to see what he can do. Max walks opposite to where I am sitting and points the camera at our friend who turns rapidly on his heels, clearly peeved and charges the offending war machine. He reaches the end of the chair and starts to undulate again but this time back and forth as if deciding if a jump is possible. A second later Max jumps back swearing, the camera flies in the air and crashes to the floor scattering its batteries in the process. I lift my head in disbelief, look at the scene of devastation and realise the bug has attacked my hubby and....won! We exchange troubled glances and decide that after all he was here before us so pick up our dishes and cutlery and move to a different table. Once again attitude is what counts, size is irrelevant!

What a peranakan house looks like from the inside

Yippee! Out of the blue my friend Sue invited me to go check out a Peranakan house for rent. She knew how much I really wanted to see one inside so there wasn't much begging on her side but more a case of "Erica jump" and Erica saying "how high?".

So I spent 10 minutes figuring out what to wear as I wanted to look sophisticated and girl-about-town but being the worst day in my brief Singaporean history in terms of heat and humidity I opted for my green linen dress and sandals that make me look more like a mediaeval dairy maid than a lady of leisure but with 35 degrees out there and 90% humidity I decided fresh was best.

With Sue forgetting her bus pass and having to go back to her flat to find it I was fretting away in anticipation so when she finally got back I whisked her away on bus 36 and 10 minutes later arrived sweaty and late to our appointment. So much for cool composure.

To say the truth the initial feeling while walking down the road looking for n. 125 was of doubt. A massive construction of some new condo was taking place right in front of the house and right behind it is a main highway with heavy traffic. To the right and side of the house a refurbishment project was in full flow so I could see why this should have been a no-no from the start.

Sue and I exchanged worried glances but by now it was too late to scuttle away so in we went. To both sides of the entrance door large old tiles with a pale green background depicting parrots and other exotic birds. Inside the house unexpected silence and one large reception room with a tiled floor in a simple dark red and white geometric pattern. The main attraction is the high ceiling that shoots directly up to the roof meaning all floors overlook the reception room. Opposite to the entrance a glass door that takes you to the courtyard, back entrance and....the kitchen. Yes, the kitchen is in the garden and if I was surprised at first I also realised that food preparation was meant for servants and not the masters of the house and this also means that cooking smells and heat are no bother to anybody in the house.

A wooden staircase takes you up to the 2nd and 3rd floor, the dark stained wood complementing the white walls and giving the property a very colonial feel. All the rooms have dark timber windows that open up onto the reception room. While this does not make for a lot of privacy it allows however for light to pour into what would otherwise be a rather dark, if cool room.

The external windows are decorated with stained glass motifs of red, yellow and blue though what the motives represents is not very clear.

Overall a beautiful house smack in the centre of Orchard Road but the lack of facilities such as a swimming pool or a proper garden make it a not very suitable proposition especially for families with children.