Risk or Death? Uh... I'll take Death, please.

Hello blog-fans.  Some of you may be wondering why famed heroine of the 'Vietnam?  Yes please!' blog has not featured in recent posts.  You may be wondering why I have been posting about cafes and domestic duties rather than the Rinjani/losing passports/half marathons/orangutans you have accustomed yourselves to.  Well, the honest answer is that I'm old now, and boring.  The blog-worthy answer is that about a month ago, Fate, with the voice of Eddie Izzard circa 1997, loomed next to the inspiration for my Li Hi adventures, Risk or Death, and had the following conversation:

Fate: Risk... or Death?

RoD: uh... I'll take Death please.

Fate: Well we're outta death, you'll have to take tea, I mean Risk.  We only had three Deaths and we weren't expecting such a rush.

(Here it is, because we love it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndIjV8Nk6DA)

So, with the choice of 'Risk or...', RoD took the opportunity to try the 'broken limb' option, and got taken out by a full grown kamikaze male on a ski slope, face planting unhappily in the Japanese snow under the force of a 90kg man moving at 100 kmph on an out of control snowboard.  Pah!  Snowboarders...

This resulted in a wrist broken in two... maybe three places... which frankly, is something to shout about.  Dutifully, RoD took a plane to Thailand (because this is what you do as an expat when these things happen) and checked herself in to the plush Bangkok hospital and began negotiations with the medical insurance people, having to shout over the very inconsiderate protesters lining the streets outside.

Protesters: loud noises, something about disliking Yingluck Shinawatra...

RoD: I say!  You - rowdy mob out there!  One is trying to sort out one's direct billing.  Do you mind?  You're making an awful racket!

Once checked in, RoD's only opportunity for high-adrenalin action was tottering down the corridor to Starbucks without spilling her intravenous liquid all over the floor.  This quickly drove her to breaking point and she was compelled to sneak out of bed one night, wrap the IV around her waist like a utility belt and covertly creep along the hall to the consultant's office.  Whilst holding him at syringe-point, she explained to him the needs of her lifestyle and, stammering for fear of his life, he agreed that a cast for us all to sign and draw smiley faces all over was not an appropriate solution to RoD's predicament. 

Happy that he had volunteered this agreement of his own accord, RoD suggested that the only possible solution, therefore, would be to inject adamantium into her wrists so that she could use her right hand to cling on to impenetrable surfaces whilst scaling sheer rock faces, and ward off big cats with a sharp back-hander when stalking springbok in the un-touristed sections of the Kruger National Park.

Of course, the doctor agreed, and administered the adamantium by the light of the moon, transforming RoD into this:

... except in a hospital robe with the bum cut open at the back...

... and since she then had six weeks of recovery time, she looked more like this:

... except by the time she got home, she had figured out how to shower one-handed, and was therefore looking a little more sanitary than our friend here.

... and obviously, RoD is not a man, or Hugh Jackman (too bad), so the images aren't really an accurate portrayal of her transformed identity... um...

So there we go!  All the explanation you could possibly need for my comparative lack of action and excitement.  I am living vicariously through RoD's eventful life as only a bored housewife can, and since she is out of action for another fortnight or so, your next installment will consist of a story about flying kites at sunset...

Pleasant. 

Terminal 9 3/4

I hate to intertextualise 'Harry Potter and the Novel of Excrement', and many of you may not care, and frankly, I wouldn't blame you, but who knew that you can walk between terminals in Changi Airport?  Look!

Mystic voice: You are now exiting Terminal 2, and about to trip over the end of the travelater because you are standing backwards taking a photo of the wormhole between terminals.

Shower of gold dust and undulating atmosphere.  Sensation akin to being birthed.  Wombs and other maternal and sci fi imagery mixed together like that film I think I once saw.

Me: WOW! ... *splat* ... ow. Embarrassed. 

But how cool is that?  You know you know a place - really know a place - when you can walk between terminals. 

Café Culture

I'm sorry, but this whole café exploration thing is just too exciting. This beautiful, beautiful Saigon café was not only beautiful, it was also open during Tet when loads of other things were closed:

Yes, I will drink my orange and dill leaf tea here, and write some birthday cards and eat curry. I will!  Thank you South East Asia for being really, quite delightful. 

In other news, Vietnam was a bit upset that I made such a big deal of Singapore's NY, so let's give their decorations some media coverage (albeit brief, blocked by tourists and taken from a still running scooter):

Horses and stopwatch. 

Wasn't aware that Saigon had won the Olympic bid...

Lunar New Year

Well!  Singapore, city of cultures drowned by a plastic interpretation of Western capitalism, certainly is an exciting place to be on Chinese New Year.  This I am thrilled by as I have often despaired at people's eager insistence that this is a melting pot nation state of vibrancy and diversity when I have mostly been struck by the high density of Starbucks and Louis Vuitton.

Since Frenchie has a few days off for the festivities, we decided to check out Chinatown, where It was sure to be At, and we were definitely not disappointed.  The journey from our suburban pad was seamless despite NYE public transport thanks to my expert navigational skills and ability to follow other Chinese looking revellers and tourists with cameras. Thinking that this was an event that would tempt pickpockets, I chose to leave Mini Pad at home, a decision I regretted the minute we saw the Main Street decorations and saw how many Singaporeans were taking selfies on their own expensive tablets. I too, wanted a selfie, but had to make do with photos taken in the dark on a phone.

When the ant line of people lead us to the main site of the revelries, Frenchie and I did the obligatory penguin shuffle through the night market, which was full of pretties of the prettiest proportions. Have some photos...

The Lizzie Ushering Wealth cats!

Remember how much the Chinese diaspora love JADE?

I want a Buddha head for my expat wife bookshelf. I can light incense next to it when my yoga instructor comes round and achieve zen to wash away the bad chakra of the stresses of being a trophy wife. 

ALL the chopsticks in the whole WORLD arranged in alphabetical order!  Wow.  Exciting!

After a while, all this excitement took its toll, and Frenchie and I had to go home, but the next morning (I say morning, I mean 'after midday' which, in holiday time is the same thing), I was excited to discover a new cafe and revisit Chinatown for more cool photos and cultural saturation. The cafe I chose was apparently the only cafe open in the whole world today, and was a delight:

Full of quirky art work and healthily sized ice cream portions. 

 Why do Singaporeans love the British so much?

Even though lots of places in Chinatown were closed for New Year's Day, the big pagoda was open and ram-jammed full of tourists and Buddhists receiving their New Year blessing. Once I had changed into some long, swishy silky China-trousers because a pagoda warden told me that my shorts were indecent and I should be ashamed, I was able to wander around being fascinated and overexcited by all the cultural behaviours and beliefs. Have some photos:

Red lanterns. Obviously. 

Buddha in his pagoda porch, welcoming everyone. 

Monks offering New Year blessings with the cup-on-the-head routine.

Big impressive Buddha statue. Waving!

Buddhists queuing for their blessings. I like to think of this as the equivalent of queuing for Santa's grotto. 

Pause for artistic photo of flowers and architecture. 

Reverence and prayer and incense, of course. 

Daughter: quick, put on 'spiritual face'. 

Son: wow, look at all these candles. 

Abbott: amen. 

LOOK AT ALL THESE BUDDHAS!  There are MILLIONS of them!  This was only one section of a very big wall, and there were lots of walls. You could do the same with Action Man figurines. Except it would be less spiritual. 

The next day, after a failed attempt to reach an island called Pulau Ubin (queues for the ferries on New Year's Day were loooooong), and having been refused afternoon tea at Raffles Hotel because the waitress in charge could smell the working class on me (dress code my arse), we spent two days licking our wounds  at the Raffles Courtyard, the Fullerton Courtyard and the Qantas GOLD Lounge. Remember that place?  The place of free beetroot and cocktails? Amazing. 

Note culturally diverse Japanese library book.  I am so multiculturally literate. 

They can also smell the working class on my Jetstar boarding pass here, though, despite my AsiaLit interest, which doesn't impress the lady at the desk, and Frenchie has to act arrogant and put out when they suggest that I have to be at least a silver member to accompany him, or flying on the same flight, whilst I stand a little way off looking disinterested and trying to hold my coffee-stained Cath Kidston handbag and fake, Saigon Square Kipling carry-on as if they are croco Hermés Birkin 30s (apparently this doesn't mean anything, as I am slow at picking up the language of luxury goods.  I am only interested in the language of FREE).

Haha 'Frenchie has to act arrogant and put out' - NB, Frenchie does not offer the receptionist sex to get me into the Gold Lounge.