I need space

By the last full day in Siem Reap, I was gagging for space. I felt the claustrophobia as everywhere I walked and everywhere I turned, there were so many Korean, Japanese, Chinese, European and even more American tourists closing in on me.

We visited the Old Market or Psar Chas as it was called in the Cambodian language. David and his Nikon fell in love with the sights, sounds and smells of still live Amok or catfish getting de-scaled, whole pig heads sitting neatly in a row and bound for somebody's dinner pot of pork stew, dried sausages, fish and what looked like bats strung from strings across the shop ceiling and a basket of beetles the size of a Range Rover perched on top a woman's head. I was searching for the nearest coffee shop, cursing under my breath that Starbucks hadn't had the good sense to open a store here. I know. I have to stop whining and enjoy the sights and er.. smells.

David heard my mental cry for help and gamely paid for an hour of foot massage for me so that he can give me space while he traipsed up and down the Old Market for more photos.

When he came back for me, he recounted his experience with a young vagrant girl carrying a baby asking him to buy a can of milk powder for USD13 at a nearby store so that the baby could get fed. And he did buy it for her, realizing only later that he fell victim to a scam whereby the girl would return the can of milk powder to the store and the store owner will give her some money and re-sell that can of milk powder to some unsuspecting tourist for the same price again! I was extremely annoyed that David's actions, out of the goodness of his heart was taken advantage of and even more disgusted with the store owner for using the innocence of that young girl to make a quick buck when she should rightly be in school instead. I made a mental note to seek her out later, or at least have her photo posted within this blog so that my friends and family who visit Siem Reap next, will not fall victim to such scams.

After mingling with the natives at the Old Market, we sauntered to the rather chi chi Hotel de la Paix for a refreshing gin and tonic. Not that the Royal Angkor was a dump but how I wished I had booked the 4 nights here instead. However, David thought the only flaw to that would be that it was crawling with French tourists. Frankly, if they served my drink with a straw wrapped in sexy, shiny, black 120gsm quality paper, and they didn't have a Groupon deal on the room nights, we probably couldn't afford to stay here anyway. We walked right back into reality when we left Hotel de la Paix.

As we stepped out of the lobby, a street vendor asked David if he wanted marijuana, cocaine or boom-boom and he didn't mean a visit to the land-mine museum. We didn't need to be sold marijuana under the table really, it was freely available as a pizza ingredient at the Happy Herb Pizza Parlour. I hope the uninitiated didn't think the happy herb was a sprinkling of sage and thyme.

I had also decided to go "ethnic" on our last day in Siem Reap. We donned a brave front and had a local roadside barbecue dinner. Safe bets with the usual choices of fried rice, fried noodle and a grilled calamari still convinced me that Cambodian food tasted shite. Our next ethnic venture was to watch an Apsara dance at a bar above a restaurant. I wasn't impressed with the venue for a classical showcase but it was free and the cocktails were on a one for one promotion at happy hour. Nice.

The best thing was the fact that when we left the bar, we spotted that young vagrant girl. When I confronted her, her eyes shone with fear and she mumbled "I don't know" while scurrying away as fast as she could.

Tomorrow, just before we check out of the hotel and head for the airport to catch our flight back home, David wants to visit Wat Thmei, a small temple that houses the remains of some of the still unidentified victims of the Khmer Rouge. The visit serves as a poignant reminder of Cambodia's tainted history, but would lend a nice ending to my trip to Siem Reap.

If and when I visit next, a 3-day stay would be more than enough. This time, at Hotel de la Paix.

I am certifiably a plebeian

Siem Reap is a very small city. The only thing that contributes to Siem Reap's presence in travel guidebooks and websites are Angkor Wat and the surrounding temple ruins. My journey through some of these ruins today was laden with lots of laughter, reverence, awe, intermingled with plenty of perspiration, weariness and groans due to my painful knee. More surprisingly, I realized I was such an uncultured and uncouth pleb with as much appreciation for the ancient civilization as Joel has of vegetables. I wouldn't bother writing about the history behind these ruins and the Siem Reap travel tips shared by many as this is clearly not a travel blog. So I'll write about my experiences today as I attempted to understand the stories behind the majestic structures of Ta Promh, Angkor Thom and Angkor
Wat.

My first act as a certified pleb, is to desecrate one of the temple ruins enroute to Ta Promh... unintentionally, I might add. You see, the temple ruins do not have toilets . I wonder where these ancient chaps did their personal business, really. And I desperately needed one. Mr Ratana, our kamikaze Tuk Tuk driver wasn't any help. With his driving skills, I was suffering a near-fractured coccyx and my left kidney possibly dropped about several miles behind our destination. So on seeing a secluded and small temple ruin, I asked him to park his Tuk Tuk some distance away on the pretext that I wanted to take some photographs. I then proceeded to climb into the temple ruins, surrounded by large ancient bricks which had possibly held together the home of some royalty or some revered deity from the 10th or 12th century. In that solitude, I had a pee. David was horrified.

I am also certain that I am a pleb because I was so relieved that I bought a 1-day pass worth USD20 to visit the 3 structures. I couldn't understand how some people could buy 3-day and even week-long passes! By the time I ended up at Angkor Wat, I was exhausted and didn't bother to play Art Director with David's photography and told him " hurry up and snap it will you? Don't bother to wait for the sunset. I'll buy you a drink at the FCC in 30 minutes."

Another reason I am a pleb, is that I chose to visit Ta Promh because I first caught sight of its beauty in the Tomb Raider movie. It was truly magnificent seeing how the tree was swallowing the temple up in a bid to claim it as its own. I swear if it's not for David hurrying me on, I would have had him capture a shot of me pretending to leap over the boulders the way Angelina Jolie did in her movie.

Yet another pleb display of ignorance was at Angkor Thom. I truly dislike Angkor Thom for the hundreds of steep wooden steps built to help tourists access the inner sanctum of the ruins. Also, it was quite like the Mount Rushmore of Cambodia. All that hype about Angkor Thom was the Bayon ruins which were mostly the 4 faces of Buddha carved around the entire site. There I met a Buddhist nun who whispered a little prayer in my ear and tied David and my wrists with matching friendship bands. How very über cool! Mr Ratana told me they weren't friendship bands but were for our protection. I certainly had hoped then that it would work because we were about to visit Angkor Wat and wanted our picture perfect view of the ruins to be protected from tourists bent on spoiling our shots.

It didn't. Angkor Wat had thousands of tourists descending upon it everyday and today was no exception. It was still very beautiful and the Apsara carvings on the wall looked so life-like even after so many centuries. However, we didn't venture up the famous dome-shaped structures of Angkor Wat. And we didn't bother waiting for the sunset. Beer O' Clock beckoned.

We ended our day at the FCC, sharing our thoughts of the ruins over a couple of beers and gin and tonic. I was so knackered. I missed Joel at home and I missed the girls in the office.

Sights and sounds of Siem Reap

First day in Siem Reap was spent with the rest of the tourist hordes who throng Pub Street by 5.30pm, catching a beer as the world go by, while waiting for the night market to open. Okay so it's not too different from my visits to Bangkok, Phuket and Bali. What's different though was that we paid a visit to Angelina Jolie's favourite bar, the Red Piano and had the cocktail called Tomb Raider, named after Ms Jolie's movie. It was decidedly overpriced and the cocktail merely walked past the Cointreau bottle to warrant a hint of alcohol. We'd decided to explore the entire Old Market area thereafter. It looked like the sleepy Phuket Town with street vendors peddling the usual beer labeled wife-beaters, jewelry and knick-knacks. It's maybe even sleepier, and a testament to that is the "Merry Christmas Siem Reap" sign hung on one shop window. What caught my interest though was a shop called Mekong Quilts that sold hand-made quilts by poor village women on a 0% profit basis. Cool. Apparently there were more fair trade stores in Siem Reap, including a shop that sold bags made of recycled materials. How socially conscious! We finally found yummy frozen margaritas that cost USD1.50. I had 6 glasses and stumbled back to the hotel in time to cancel that Angkor Wat tour booked for the next day.

Day 2 was spent nursing a slight hangover. Thank goodness I was coherent enough to postpone the Angkor Wat trip. The poor bloke at the tour desk must think I was a crazy tourist. However, we visited the war museum. I was intrigued by the now disarmed equipment like the artillery, anti aircraft missiles, tanks, guns, uranium warheads and land-mines. And I was moved to tears when I saw pictures of kids as young as 7 years old, wearing army fatigues, brandishing rifles, in the midst of war-time action. Our guide, Mr Srinath was one such soldier and he pointed to his photo pinned on the board while describing in vivid detail how he lost a leg and an eye to a land-mine. His body still has 2 ball-bearings and a shrapnel lodged in various places. I just couldn't believe that the war ended just barely 12 years ago. Today, there are still a million land-mines yet to be cleared and 6-7 Cambodians still die each day from exploded land-mines in the North-West region of Cambodia. This is a place of interest that's seldom written about in guidebooks and travel websites, but it's probably a must-see. I left the place in gratitude for living in a different part of the world, in a different time, with people I love.

We also visited the Angkor National Museum. It showcased an extensive collection of archaeological finds that depicted the ancient civilizations pre to post Angkor period. However, by the time I walked into the 4th gallery, I felt I saw one too many Buddha statues, Vishnu and Indra statues, Apsaras carved in reliefs and plenty more phallic or Linga statues. So we set off for an Amok Curry or Catfish Curry lunch washed down with more USD1.50 frozen margaritas then.

I dislike holidays

I truly abhorr holidays.

I dislike worrying about work and not being able to manage any issues that crop up during the week and not being in control of it. I have got the A-Team back in the office organized to do all that, and yet I have got so much uncertainties and anxieties hanging over my head.

I worry about Joel being alone at home. Yes, yes, he is 18 and old enough to turn the flat into a shag pad. Moreover, he's got his vacation job keeping him busy for half a day, followed by chores at home when he returns each day from work. However, I still worry like a control freak of a mother would.

Then there's my travel mate, David. On certain aspects, I do enjoy traveling with him. For example, he pays for most things throughout the trip and when he puts his ogre demeanor to good use, we do get perks like free upgrades.

One of the few things that annoy me about traveling with him is his insistence on getting a window seat during the flight. I prefer the aisle you see, being an obsessively frequent visitor to the loo to preen myself before, during and after the flight. However, my travel mate refuses to sit apart from me for fear that some big, burly and crass Russian tourist ends up next to him. So the self sacrificing wife that I am ends up squeezing in the middle seat, and annoying the other passenger next to me by stepping on his nuts a few times while climbing over him to get to the loo.

Then there's the differing interests. The travel mate's second wife after the car and myself is his Nikon. He takes it everywhere with him and needs to find a reason to brandish the thing throughout the trip. So I foresee endless visits to temple ruins that look alike while I'd prefer to chill in a pub over a $1 margarita which PH and wife have promised me is the highlight of their trip to Siem Reap.

I hope this week in Siem Reap is a restful one. Most importantly, I hope David gets the photos he's been after even if it means strapping a torch to our foreheads and heading to the Angkor Wat at 4am in the morning to stake his tripod by the lake. I was promised a spectacular and romantic sunrise, in the midst of hundreds of fellow tourists.

Hell hath no fury like a wife who is fed up of nagging

Just point out to me please..where in that marriage certificate does it state that I've to pick up after the mess my husband leaves forever till death do us part?

When I had decided to marry someone a little different, color and smell notwithstanding, I was ready to put up with the family's misgivings, snide remarks from friends asking if I had to hire a live-in Scottish-English interpreter, and even a little bit of his oddities, like his penchant to eat everything with Hoi Sin sauce.

I am such a patient and giving wife that I could even put up with his irrational taste in music ( think Megadeath, Slipknot, Thin Lizzy), his passion for guitars that look old, stained and broken ( like his ESP Edwards) and his insane love for his petrol-guzzling, high-maintenance, money-wasting Range Rover called George. I could even put up with his humorless jokes. He began to tell me one that day. "They say the British weather is like Iraq. Sometimes it's sunny, and sometimes it's shite." And he started laughing to himself while Joel and I stared blankly back.

What I wasn't prepared to put up with though, is his thoughtless mess driven by his laziness to pick up after himself.

After returning from a walk with the dogs, his shorts and Tshirt were found on top of the laundry basket again. Not in the laundry basket where they should be, but on top of it. And the teak valet in the bedroom looked like a train wreck with his clothes accumulating from weeks ago, draped callously over it.

I am even annoyed with that dumb-looking skull hanging from the car's rear view mirror, put there by him to announce to anyone who gives a toss, that he is The Headhunter.

And I can't fathom how anyone who had used the last bit of Parmesan cheese for his pasta, can put that empty Parmesan Cheese container back in the fridge again without blinking.

My friends tell me that their husbands are the same. This makes me believe that women must be saints to put up with such primate behaviors from their men.

When I lay my head on my pillow each night, I start to remember what I saw in this man. I remember how much he loves Joel like his own. Years ago, Joel's first bike and skateboard experience is with this man he calls Pops. Pops was the one who held his hands during his pubescent years and his first shave. I remember how he visited Dad 4 times to ask for my hand in marriage only to be chased out of Dad's office each time. Today, he is the husband who draws a heart on the foam of my freshly brewed coffee each morning. He's the one that I gripe to when work gets the better of me. He's the one that holds the family together with lots of love and laughter. I finally go to sleep feeling truly blessed.

Celebrating all things Scottish...and Peranakan Chinese too

Somehow, the Scots are pretty much like the Peranakan Chinese. They have special traditions driven by their love for particular foods. They're just a little noisier and completely incomprehensible when they get together in a large group drinking copious amount of alcohol, admiring the colors of each other's tartans and eating lots of haggis.

We Peranakan Chinese too have our traditions driven by food. On special occasions, whether it's Chinese New Year, a wedding, or when we are commemorating the death anniversary of someone close, like my gran from Dad's side, there was always a cacophony of loud noises from the laughter of the womenfolk in the kitchen admiring each other's colorful kebayas, to the loud hollers at the mahjong tables and there was always plenty to eat. There must always be the requisite Bakwan Kepiting, Babi Pongteh, Chap Chye and Buah Keluak.

Last evening, I had the privilege of seeing 2 cultures celebrating their respective traditions side by side. The Scottish Business Association of Singapore (SBAS) celebrated Burns' Supper at O'Leary's, at the Singapore Flyer. The choice of an American-Irish venue for the occasion was beyond me.

Interestingly, the full dress rehearsal for the Chinese New Year Chingay procession was happening at the Flyer too. The sight and sounds of Scottish chatter, clinking of whiskey glasses, the banter and laughter exchanged while comparing kilt colours amongst the men, intermingled with the drum beats, Chinese music and colours of the Chinese New Year Chingay floats.

We had Haggis, Neeps and Tatties as a starter. Joel had 4 helpings of it in fact. I was quite worried he would be shitting Mars Bars today, after all that Haggis he had.

Joel was the "official" photographer for the event. The SBAS couldn't afford his services but he was satisfied that he was paid in kind. He ate his weight in haggis, tatties, and neeps, and a truck load of chocolate coated marshmallows thereafter. He was the "official" entertainer at our table too, regaling his experience in between giggles, about how he walked into the loo, only to be confronted by a group of Scots lifting their kilts up, occupying every urinal space, while chatting nonchalantly about their respective tartan colors and size of their Sgian Dugh, a knife that's part of a Scotsman's regalia (I hope Joel got that one right, and it was the sgian dugh that the men in the loo were referring to).

So what is Haggis? My sister-in-law told me that it was like a sausage made from lamb offal mixed with herbs and oatmeal and wrapped in the stomach casing of a sheep. I hope I am at least somewhat accurate with that description. My asian friends balked at the thought of it and wouldn't touch the stuff. Honestly, it isn't too different from our Buah Keluak, a Peranakan dish made from chicken, pork rib and a special Indonesian nut that's black in color, and needs to be soaked and brushed for a few days before cooking because it's otherwise poisonous. My Caucasian friends balked at this and David thinks it's my ploy to kill him off and run away to marry another man with all his money.

Anyway, we had a great time at Burns' Supper. After all, it was a terrific excuse to meet up with old friends, laugh loads, wear our kilts, eat haggis and get drunk.

I love traditions. And I wouldn't miss celebrating any of these each year. I feel very blessed that we could celebrate the differences and also the similarities in our cultures.

If music be the food of love, play on

Mum sent me to music classes when I was younger. She was the original Tiger Mum who spent at least 2 hours each day listening to me practice my scales and arpeggios, and another hour helping me memorize Italian words like pianoforte, adagio and andante. She even signed me up for an additional subject at O' levels - music. She wanted me to be musically-oriented, "all young ladies must be well-mannered and musical", she quipped in between my pathetic moaning. She wanted me to be more cultured and not restrict my vocabulary of Italian terms to spaghetti, lasagna and al dente. I think, secretly, Mum wanted me to have a career as a music teacher. I must be a great disappointment to her, today, because my piano is currently used for the occasional blues and rock, and my Italian terms gave way to several Hokkien swear words.

Then I met my husband. He attempted to impress me with his ability to play his electric guitar, his bass guitar and sing.... sometimes all 3 at the same time. He thinks he looks like Gene Simmons and sings like Bono. Our neighbors disagree.

Occasionally, he'd head down to the Crazy Elephant pub on Sundays for a jam. And when he can round up a bunch of equally tone-deaf mates, they'd book a studio for their jam sessions.

In his free time, he'd show me old photographs of his old band Appaloosa and one wouldn't even recognize him in those photos, leather pants, thick mullet and amazingly skinny... not the pants. But one could recognize that same look of pure pleasure as he holds his guitar.

Today, he plays with a band called Pure Mince. I can't understand the reason behind that name for a band and figured that these modest old chaps actually felt they were awful enough to call themselves Pure Mince (I understand it's a Scottish term for lousy). Their St Patrick's Day gig at the Prince of Wales pub last year had just proven that they were really modest after all. Their rendition of everything U2 was actually quite good.

David's still full of passion for his guitar and Pure Mince, though I wished he didn't practice his singing at home with his headphones on. The neighbors probably thought one of our dogs' about to give birth, or worse, I'd stepped on the boy's nuts.

So here are some pictures celebrating the hubby's first love, after me of course, and the reason I've become a band widow once a week and an aging groupie once every few months when he plays at a gig.