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[ June 2009 ] | |
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TCHS 4O 2000 [4o's nonsense] alvinny [2] - csq - edchong jenming - joseph - law meepok - mingqi - pea pengkian [2] - qwergopot - woof xinghao - zhengyu HCJC 01S60 [understated sixzero] andy - edwin - jack jiaqi - peter - rex serena SAF 21SA khenghui - jiaming - jinrui [2] ritchie - vicknesh - zhenhao Others Lwei [2] - shaowei - website links - Alien Loves Predator BloggerSG Cute Overload! Cyanide and Happiness Daily Bunny Hamleto Hattrick Magic: The Gathering The Onion The Order of the Stick Perry Bible Fellowship PvP Online Soccernet Sluggy Freelance The Students' Sketchpad Talk Rock Talking Cock.com Tom the Dancing Bug Wikipedia Wulffmorgenthaler       |
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- category tags - academics art changelog current events cute stuff gaming miscellaneous music outings philosophy poetry programming rants reviews sport travel work tags in total: 386 |
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 Dear Person-who-feeds-me (but who has not done so for nearly a month): I am not pleased with your service attitude. Where have you been all these weeks? I hear you have actually chosen to travel around Europe, instead of stuffing my cheeks with food. My word! I nearly starved to death! I need a tummy rub, pronto. You seek to buy me off with a crummy postcard. You seek to bribe me, and with a lousy pun at that! My uncle Al isn't even a crossdresser! I might consider it if the postcard were edible, but it is not. Well, I guess I could eat it if I really wanted, but it is tasteless! This is shocking! This is an outrage! But, I like the promises you have made in the inedible postcard, which would otherwise be totally useless. Rest assured that I will hold you to them.  In any case, there's nothing that great about Europe. I have visited instead the fabled Yellow Topped Cup, supposedly filled with food. As you can see, I have even climbed the Cup. And what have you done? Everest? K2? I laugh, sir, in your face, at your pathetic exploits. I have also touched the legendary Black Wheeled Five-Legged Tower with my very nose; Slept in mortal danger at the base of the Unending Jutting Cliffs Above Marble. What, pray, have you come across in Europe that can best that? And what is that I hear about you praising some dog you came across in Naples? More adoring than me? Cuter than me? Please. My dear sir, I think you are holding me to unreasonably high standards of behaviour. I have already refrained from biting you when you feed me. Is that not enough? What does a poor hamster have to do to be appreciated? Yours truly, Mr. Ham G. Bacon P.S. Send food.
- travel - + europe grad trip - Not having had Internet access for a period, some details may already have been forgotten, and as such the following recollections may have become even briefer. A summary of the places visited - Venice on the 16th, then Florence, two days in the Cinque Terre (sleeping in Riomaggiore), and then a stopover at Pisa en route to Naples. 16 June  The toga party last night (which we obviously didn't participate in) mercifully ended sometime about midnight, and I managed to get going after an early morning bath and an egg sandwich [1]. Stocked up at the local co-op supermarket, and with a full day ahead of us we got a 12-hour pass for unlimited travel on the water taxis [2] for 16 Euros. Think of them as Venice's buses, just buses that have to be hauled in by rope at every stop. Our first destination would be St. Mark's Basilica [3], which stands next to the Doge's palace, and might just be the definition of a tourist trap - other than the masses thronging the Sant Marco Plaza, the line to enter the Basilica stretched as far as the eye could see. This was where our guidebook proved its worth, as we crept about the corner [4] to deposit our bags for an hour and get a number tag - which enabled us to skip past the uninformed baking in the midday sun, right into the Basilica itself. Its interior was, well, fairly golden (no photography allowed).  Working glass-on-a-stick (photo credit: alvin) (photography possibly not allowed, but what the heck) A burger with ham [5] for lunch and an ice-cream [6] for the heat, then it was out to the surrounding islands for a more leisurely peek into Venetian life. Having been forewarned that the glass-blowing factory at Murano would close by four, we still barely made it, but in any case we could only watch from a distance [7, see little speck of light] as a few men thrust misshapen globules into an oven. It seems as if their glass products are quite famous, though Chinese imitations have cut into their market too. More island-hopping to Burano (known for its lace, with framed embroidery examples prevalent) and Torcella [8] with its brightly-painted houses, among other places. The oppressive heat kept up, and caused all of us to fall asleep on the water taxi, requiring a wake-up call by the conductor. Went looking for dinner back in Venice, and came across a Chinese restaurant where we ordered lemon chicken and tofu, while I chose some seafood (prawn) fried rice [9] to go along with it. The food was palatable, but the size of the portions less so, and the price was disappointing - 20 Euros together. That's what one gets for dining in a restaurant. 17 June  Baked our clothes in the dryer before we left our cabin, and caught a bus to Venice's train station, where we had time to pick up breakfast (chocolate buns [1] for me) at the co-op. A train ride, and we were in Florence (having given up on Siena due to the difficulty of finding accomodations). Having one's lodgings described as a "Three-man tent", and a price of just 12 Euros each, conjured up images of rolling about a canvas sheet spread on bumpy ground, but in reality the beige tent [2] that they drove us to in a golf buggy was huge enough to comfortably contain the newest double-decker bed [3] that I have encountered thus far. We were never going to have much time in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Town (think Michelangelo and Leonardo especially), and it appeared prudent to skip right to its most famous attraction, the Duomo [4, reminds me of the opening screen for Civilization IV: Beyond the Sword] (or Santa Maria del Fiore). I have more or less taken my fill of cathedrals, and the Duomo isn't particularly large or ornate compared to the others I've seen, but its stolid simplicity made for a refreshing change. The dome [5] (the first one of the Renaissance age) is lavish in contrast, gorgeously (and neck-achingly) depicting the Last Judgment. Got an SMS from the other four and joined them at the top of the nearby La Rinascente shopping centre for a cup of coffee [6]. Since it cost money just to take a seat, they apparently decided to make the most of it by playing cards; this may be an opportune time to introduce their new game of choice - Minimizer Dang Dang Dang!.
 The New sat before the Old (photo credit: alvin) After kopi and gelato [7] (Florence's the best in Italy, supposedly), we wandered about [8] (sighted a copy of Michelangelo's David), got dinner, and visited the four-man gang's hostel [9], where we booked our accommodations for the last few destinations through the Web. To their dismay, the champion snorer who had taken up residence in their eight-man bunk had not moved out, and another night of irregular (probably worse than the regular type, since one can't get used to the rhythm), mega-loud snorts, punctuated by the hapless Japanese guy in the bed below the snorer banging his head in agony, awaited them. Not that I didn't have issues of my own, such as finding the right tent (11) in darkness. If I were ever to run a campsite, remind me to a) add more lights and signs b) never reuse numbers in the same area c) give out cards, if not keys, with guests' tent numbers on them. I can have no complaints about the bed, though - it was inviting enough for me to sleep with my shirt off, even if I had to once again wake up freezing in a few hours. 18 June  A McDonald's cheeseburger [1] for breakfast on the train to the Cinque Terre (literally Five Villages) via Pisa, as I was finally forced into wearing my uncomfortable jeans once more as my khaki long pants were still damp with sweat. I would soon suffer for that. The journey (via Pisa, which we would revisit later) was enjoyable as the groups finally combined permanently, and we found the reception area of Mar Mar Rooms (with creative cacti arrangement [2]) easily. We had a 4-3 room split, and I ended up with twc and csq in the three-man room [3] (which did however have the fridge). There was even a kitchen and toilet en suite, and a good table, but sadly no Wifi, not even encrypted networks. Boo. We had sped through all the five villages from La Spezia to Riomaggiore by train, and gotten sneak previews between dark tunnels, but the hiking between villages would have to wait as the trails between them are part of a National Marine Park, meaning that it costs five Euros for tourists just to walk from one village to another. Who said going on foot was cheap? Ironically, as we had used one of our flexi-days on our railpass for the trip here, catching a train between villages was free of charge.  Like little Lego bricks A pizza lunch [4] was followed by an exploration of Riomaggiore, where I eventually got accustomed to the astounding architecture of the villages - think houses of every colour piled haphazardly atop one another, with no indication of how they are to be accessed, and you'll have some idea of the place. Clambered down to the rocky beach [5, a very rocky boat landing], before breaking for cheap 0.70 Euro coke lolly [6]. Village two, Manarola, was next, with the same superbly scenic views [7, overlooking the small cemetery, where even their dead lie in layers], and precious little else. Saw the modest "swimming hole" and peeked into the mostly-empty San Lorenzo church, heard the buried stream, got close to some grapevines... and that was about it, really. Ended the day in village five (Monterosso), the only one with a proper beach [8] (if created with imported sand), but the best was yet to come. Irritated by my jeans throughout the day, I shelled out 13 Euros for a pair of shorts that were nice, if a little too short, in preparation for the next day. For once, we were prepared to spend big (okay, medium) on dinner, and sat down at the Ristorante Belvedere by the seaside. This is one meal [9] that probably deserves a photoessay of its own.  There was the usual debate about ordering separately or together, with the main attraction being the amfora belverde, a 45 Euro stew that our guidebook says "can easily be shared by up to four" and their waiter suggested maybe feeds three. There was talk of sharing two of those, but in the end we ordered just the one, supplemented by three pasta dishes while we waited for the amfora belverde to be ready. The pasta was decent, but our meticulous division of the individual bits only served to highlight how meagre servings are when split seven ways. We gave up on accuracy when it came to the spaghetti (somehow black on one half and pale on the other), and having eaten our initial allotment of complimentary bread, could only hope that the main course would be more filling. It was. The waiter first places a large bowl, close to qualifying as a tub, in front of us. He leaves and soon gingerly walks over again, his oven glove-encased hands holding an amphora (a huge vase with handles). It is clearly an effort. Slowly and very carefully, he tips it into the bowl. An abundance of mussels falls out, then large chunks of anonymous fish. Big prawns. A bigger crab. And, with one last shake, a whole baby octopus, all bathed in a deep, thick, red stew.  (photo credit: alvin) It is, quite simply, huge - even given the appetite of some of us. It was not just the seafood, however, as the waiter plied us with garlic bread throughout the meal, and the bread dipped in the extremely rich stew was heavenly. We just about managed to eat the lot, which leads me to marvel at the groups of three or four, whom it seems routinely consume the lot. I can see where food crises may be coming from. Very satisfied, we caught the 10-plus train back to Riomaggiore, where we found the time for a game of Citadels (twm brought it) before sleeping. 19 June  Hiking day. One of the things to do in Cinque Terre is to walk from one of its ends to the other (approximately 11km), and having paid our five Euros each for the privilege, that was exactly what we did. Five villages means four stretches between them, and the first between Riomaggiore and Manarola [1] was high, but scenic [2, attempted emo pic] and simple. So far, so good. We passed through tunnels liberally decked with graffiti, and also some lovers' throne [3], the railings beside it weighed down with hundreds of locks left by dreamy couples. Having already explored Manarola the previous day, we didn't stop for long, and continued towards Corniglia, the third village. It was still decent going, until the last stretch, which was a 365-step (or 382-step, depending on who you believe) climb [4]. We counted only 200-plus, but either way it is probably enough of an achievement that some small congratulations [5] are in order. A rest was declared, and we collectively demolished another kilogram of gelato [6, 500g box]. I ate a slab of pizza, and with not all that much in this tiny village (pop. 200+) either, we went on our merry way. There is rumoured to be a nude beach hidden somewhere close by [7, hinted at on a red-and-white trail marker], but we found no trace of it. I had far bigger problems on my mind in any case. I have never liked heights much, but the previous trails, while mostly cut into mountainsides maybe a hundred metres up, were at least well-paved and protected with railings. We may have taken the wrong (and longer) trail to Vernazza, and it was littered with stretches where the trail is a dirt path barely a metre across, with a craggy wall of stone on one side, and a sheer drop off the other. Not my idea of fun. But it can get worse - imagine now that instead of a path, you have steps that are none too even. Yes, it would probably be nothing much at ground level, but halfway up a cliff is another matter. Let's just say that I didn't enjoy it, and spent much of the time slowly crab-walking, pressed against whatever solid objects I could find. The thought that a single loose stone or misstep could well be Game Over weighed heavily on my mind. We did meet a Singaporean Indian family along the way, though.  occ and I (photo credit: alvin) It was a great relief when we arrived at Vernazza in mid-afternoon, where we had more ice-cream and refilled our bottles from the communal tap [8, spring water direct from the source]. It seemed as good a time to take a dip as any, and while Vernazza's beach (right by its harbour) isn't much compared to Monterosso, four of us headed for the delightfully cool water. alvin and twc stayed only awhile, while I lingered with occ somewhat longer. Note: swimming trunks make great underpants. Worked on a tan floating in the saltwater, and swam about a bit, though we didn't venture much further out after I saw that the seabed was already a few stories below us. Having goggles (which, surprisingly, few of the other bathers or swimmers appeared to have) was priceless in the clear water, as I watched small schools of fish swim right by, even in shallow water. Spent the last twenty minutes or so lounging on a bench with my sunglasses, as my T-shirt dried rapidly under the sun. The final stretch was from Vernazza to Monterosso, and unfortunately it was like the last section of trail. Rough and narrow, the guidebook warns, and so it is. It began with a seemingly unending climb up through multiple steps hewn into the rock, but thankfully at the end of a sapping hour or so the stairs down were proper stairs, and a gentle, sweeping path down into sensible Monterosso - where the people actually build on flat land. Felt hungry enough to down a whole ham & mushroom pizza [9] at the Bar Birreria Il Brigantino , and it was back to Riomaggiore by train, a bottle of cold Coke in the fridge, and another game of Citadels before sleep. 20 June  We had a long trip down Italy to Naples on the agenda, but first we had to brave the rain [1, twc and alvin]. csq's huge laundry bag served me well here. A breakdown in communications led to us making our way to Pisa in two batches, but we made it there and continued snacking on the biscuits [2] we had for breakfast. The key attraction of Pisa [3] is, of course, its Leaning Tower [4], which might well be the motto of software engineers everywhere: "It's not a bug, it's a feature." Just think, if the builders had bothered to do proper soil surveys and laid the right foundations, Pisa would have a charming little ten-storey tower, to which no-one would have given a second look. Instead, they messed up and got a squat base that listed sideways. They could have corrected it, or maybe taken it down and started over. Instead, they had the bright idea of patching the error by building the pillars on the sinking side a bit taller, so the top of the next floor would be level with the ground; unsurprisingly, that slanted too after awhile. And on it went as the top of the next floor, and the next, was built to cover existing mistakes, until one day they must have thrown their hands up and admitted that the tower was irrevocably leaning, and no amount of fixes built on top could correct it. This corresponds to the point in the life cycle of a software application where the programmers realise none of them really knows what the heck is going on any longer, and they (or better, a convenient scrapegoat) will have to explain to their managers that the project has to be scrapped. Except that there sometimes is a happy ending, as someone in Sales realises that he can push the flawed product onto users with a heavy dose of marketing. And thus it was that a badly-built shambles of a tower was touted to be cool, people decided that it actually was since it was such a big cock-up (given extra meaning by Deuce Bigalow) that it wrapped around the threshold of Epic Fail into Win, with the result that it is world-famous and probably pulls millions of dollars a year into Pisa today. Somewhere out there, the ghosts of dozens of respectable and conscientious Italian architects are banging their heads in despair. This didn't bother the masses of tourists, who posed themselves pushing, pulling, leaning on, supporting, kicking [5] (difficult move) and swallowing [6] the Leaning Tower, perhaps unaware that they could obtain the same effect with any Properly Straight Tower by rotating their camera a bit. We couldn't very well be spoilsports, could we? The antics of the tourists may [7] in fact be the true draw of the attraction, come to think of it. Took a late lunch was a hamburger, a cheeseburger and iced tea from McDonald's, then settled in for the long trip to Naples via Rome. There was some drama as occ got bumped at the crowded train platform, and immediately felt his wallet missing. occ accosted the young woman who had collided with him quickly enough, but the wallet was nowhere to be found. He made one last-ditch attempt as our train threatened to leave, after the woman linked up with her probable-accomplice, who was cradling a baby (a good hiding place for stolen valuables). No luck. At least there wasn't that much cash in the wallet, and the credit cards were cancelled in a hurry. We had to split up as the six-seater carriages were mostly filled, and I ended up back with alvin and sel. The carriage cleared after a few stops, and we began playing Minimizer Dang Dang Dang!. Our programme appeared to be set - until an Italian guy got on and began trying to converse with us in Italiano - an endeavour doomed to failure. A lot of shoulder-shrugging, hand-twisting at the ear and bemused smiles later, he likely got the drift, and sat down watching us play for a bit before leaving for more entertaining companions. A while later, the next guy, who had been sitting quietly, tried to talk, and very importantly, he knew a smattering of English. But alas no, we didn't play Texas Hold'em. occ (who had taken some classes in Italian) was called in, and it transpired that our new friend was a 22 year-old (though I would have guessed he was closer 30) sailor in the Italian Navy, returning home on break from his base in La Spezia. We made painfully slow conversation, with him using his handphone's translate function, and us occ's English-to-Italian dictionary. He traced with his finger on a map of Italy; occ showed a bowl of laksa on his handphone. Eventually, alvin traded Facebook emails with him, we supplied him with a Chinese version of his name, and we said our ciaos.  An Italian thumbs-up (photo credit: occ) Stopped safely in Naples, where the local Mafia has held gunfights as recently as 2005. We were always far more at risk from the horn-happy local drivers, though, as they regard traffic lights more as inconvenient suggestions than orders. After having our money eaten by the ticket machine at the Metro, and with no human staff in attendance, we felt we had little alternative but to adopt the Neapolitan spirit of arrangiarsi (getting by), and ride the metro ticketless. Stood next to a policeman with a holstered gun on the way, which made us feel rather secure. Climbed many flights of stairs to get to the exit of the metro station, where a uniformed man somehow guessed that we were headed to the La Controra Flashpackers Hostel, and gave us directions there. Slightly concerned that it was a set-up, the instructions seemed legit, and we made it to the hostel only to find that Hostelworld had taken liberties with our bookings. We had seven places for the first and third nights, but only three for the second. The staff (whom have been pretty great) eventually found enough spots (split up, unfortunately) for the second night, and even cleared our dorm for the first night of its original inhabitants. Ran the gauntlet of Neapolitan traffic to get dinner, and we settled on their special offer of two large pizzas, two spring chickens [8], two containers of fries and an assortment of various fried pasta balls for a total of 26 Euros. The pizza was thick-crusted, as the region is famed for, but the chicken stole the show by being wonderfully salty. At just over three Euros per person, it was superb value for money. What made the meal even more special was the presence of a lovable female dog with an interesting name, who supposedly just had puppies. The staff rather unkindly told us to kick her and tell her to f**k off [sic], but we couldn't quite bring ourselves to do that. What's a few scraps of chicken, right? Too bad Mr. Ham isn't quite as adoring. 21 June Itinerary for the day is Mount Vesuvius (an active volcano, mind, and overdue for an eruption from historical patterns). Scrambling along uneven mountainside ledges is one thing, but I drew the line at adding lava to the mix, and camped in the hostel room for the day. No point forking out good money (16 Euros just for the strongly-suggested guide service) on an experience I'm quite sure I wouldn't even enjoy. It's quite nice actually to simply be alone for a day, with just my trusty netbook for company. Too bad the storm last night appears to have knocked out the hostel's Internet connection temporarily, but one can't have everything. Ate a huge Quattro Stagioni pizza at night (good value for six Euros), while watching Brazil thump Italy 3-0 by half-time on the telly.
- travel - + europe grad trip - 13 June  Woke up freezing in the wee hours, when it had been too warm to get under the covers just hours ago. Designated laundry morning soon arrived, and sel and I plonked three pounds (not including washing powder) to wash our clothes in the laundrette next door. Spin dry [1] (30 pence for three minutes) was a new experience for me, and I can full well understand why cats and dogs might be fascinated by the sight. That took us the morning up till eleven-plus, and by the time we arrived in central London, our original breakfast had all but deserted us; what else could we do but order a Full English Breakfast [2] as lunch? It was sure filling, I'll give them that. After a couple of distractions, including being handed a brochure from the International Church of Christ by a young Asian adult (which I added to my collection), and buying a new Urban Sport daypack to put my old bursting-at-the-seams daypack in (the most logical response to running out of storage space) for 12 pounds, we arrived at the world-famous British Museum at about two. The museum was just too huge to cover in detail, and we settled for going through the Chinese, Indian, South Asian and South East Asian collection [3] slowly, going through a hall dedicated to life and death. Poring at statues and figurines of various materials and in various states of degradation after going through jade, ceramics, and coins among other objects soon lost its attraction, and we hooked back up with alvin at the entrance at four. It's amazing how many of London's major attractions can be covered in an evening on foot, and we saw Trafalgar Square (with a performer doing the limbo rock beneath a pole at knee level), 10 Downing Street (admittedly at a distance) [4], Big Ben [5], Westminster Abbey (with a horrible entrance fee of over 20 pounds!) [6], the London Eye [7] and the National Portrait Gallery, among others. Nothing life-changing, just some hard walking. Searched for a cheap dinner in Chinatown [8] by Leicester Square, and located an All-You-Can-Eat buffet for below five pounds, at an establishment named Mr Wu - not a great selection of dishes, but it was as good as could be expected. Sated my craving for carbohydrates (especially rice, but also noodles), but their sweet-and-sour pork, chicken wings and fries [9] weren't half bad either. Ate just over three plates of food and drank three bowls of soup, after which I restrained myself remembering the 八分饱 rule of thumb. The inn was hosting some event, probably a wedding, when we dragged ourselves back. Judging from the drunken guys raising their voices menacingly even a couple of hours after midnight, as I struggled to put together the previous blog entry, the party was a resounding success. Cheers. 14 June  Lugged my ever-increasing assortment of luggage (inching towards the 15kg mark) onto the train and metro to the Liverpool Street station in the morning, where for eight pounds the Excess Baggage Company scanned its contents, demanded that I extract my netbook for a second scan, and agreed to hold my check-in bag for a day. Temporarily freed from our burdens, sel and I went down to the tkts official half-price theatre tickets outlet to scope out the day's offerings, and with sel's first choice Mamma Mia! unavailable, we set our sights on Stomp (not the Straits Times online version). Following guidebook advice, we went down to the Ambassador Theatre (right by the St. Martin's, where Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap has been ongoing for 57 years [1]). Since alvin said that he would be walking the streets with his local friends, we got two good tickets for 20 pounds each [2]. With time to burn before the 3 p.m. start, we went on a stroll through the immediate area, taking in Cleopatra's Needle [4], before we had to return, popping into a manga store (where I got to know a new song [video]) to pass the final ten minutes or so. Our seats were right in the middle of the first row of the Circle (top tier), and gave a quite magnificent view in the modestly-sized theatre. As an added bonus, it meant that the water and sand sprayed by the performers couldn't reach us. Let it be known that Stomp is a very high-energy show, and might be more closely related to carnivals than regular theatre. It was worth the money, if only to discover what music could be produced by items such as brooms, trash can lids, trash cans themselves, rubber tubes, chairs, and above all the unaccompanied human body.  Won't see this in Singapore The show ended after an hour and a half, and we continued our walk only to be greeted by a seemingly never-ending line of marching protesters, flanked by a small number of marshals. They appeared to be concerned with the plight of Tamils in Sri Lanka (where the Tamil Tigers have finally been routed), and despite their numbers were quite orderly. We had seen a small contingent yesterday, as well as a separate group distributing anti-Chinese communism material, which was probably the most eye-opening experience I had in England. We have the towering skyscrapers, the traffic, even a sprinkling of monuments, but heaven forbid somebody wear a T-shirt with a political message in Orchard Road. Swept past St. Paul's Cathedral [5] , and passed by the outside of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre [6] as we continued on our merry way. Ate another burger, this time a fish filet, for dinner [7] (yes, it may not be the healthiest diet, but we do have a budget). Crisscrossed the River Thames, encountering the moored HMS Belfast [8], and walked both the Millenium Bridge (far less grand than I had imagined) and the Tower Bridge [9]. London Bridge paled in comparism, and it's no wonder generations of kids have been calling for its collapse. Rounded the Tower of London (with no obvious towering structure in sight), then made for the distinctive missile-shaped building in the eerily-deserted business district as dusk approached. The streets were so empty that it almost felt like being in some post-apocalyptic film. Buckingham Palace was the only key attraction that I wanted to see but left out on this visit - next time, perhaps. Arrived back at Liverpool Street, claimed our left luggage, bought a milk chocolate bar from Marks & Spencer for the long night ahead, rode the Stansted Express back to the airport, didn't manage to get free Wifi despite a tip by a Hong Konger, and staked out a good piece of floor to doze off on with the assurance born of experience. My new daypack made a much better pillow than the old one. As this is the last entry on England, it seems proper to mention some errata, concerning our arrival in London - we parted ways at King's Cross and St. Pancreas, not Seven Sisters. Credit alvin for the discovery. That was hardly the only discovery he made in his stay here, as we took care to sample a different newspaper each day whenever possible, given England's rich journalistic tradition. Here's the rundown:
* Not, in fact, bought ** It might be described as a paper full of interesting Page Threes 15 June  Woke up in the airport feeling slightly miserable, after a few hours of poor sleep on the hard floor. Thankfully it was the last time I would have to do so on this trip, but the lack of breakfast didn't help. A two-hour Ryanair flight took us from Stansted to Treviso airport, where we brunched on a slab of pizza [1] and a bottle of Coke after a bus into town. A long wait for Bus 15 was followed by disappointment as we realised that we could not buy tickets from the driver, causing us to return to the restaurant where we took brunch for the tickets. It was smooth sailing after that, and four stops after the Marco Polo airport, we found ourselves at Camping Alba D'Oro [2], our home for the next two nights. There would be more waiting before we got to the head of the queue at reception, and we were assigned the Number 7 bunk [3], which happened to be just behind the reception building. The insides weren't that back, consisting with a red double-decker of the type we have become accustomed to, and a single. No free Wifi either, sadly, and I was forced to purchase an hour of access for three Euros [4] (concentrates one's mind wonderfully though). That done, we took a short walk into the campsite (which had two outdoor table tennis tables and a beach soccer court) before catching the 3 p.m. bus (four Euros return, nothing's free here) into Venice itself. Venice was canals [5], as fits its popular image, but not as many as I had thought. It was crowded with tourists, and without much time remaining we decided to have more food (more pizza [6] from a supermarket at a low two Euros, with mineral water at 39 cents for 1.5 litres) by canalside before just walking about. I verified alvin's friend's warning about the lack of reasonably-priced toilets, as I broke my 30p record in Manchester and London, paying 0.80 Euros at the train station; determined to make the best of it, I lingered rather longer than necessary in the loo, which was nothing exceptional. Window shopping, observing the rising tide levels [7] and a tub of ice-cream [8] later, we were about ready to call it a day when who else would we meet by sheer chance but the other three Europe-trippers, plus occ!  Heroes meeting at Ruga Vecchia S. Giovanni What could be do but swop tales and have dinner (pasta with ketchup and cheese [9] for me) together? twm, pnut, csq and occ very nicely showed us their hotel room in Venice, as well as their new penchant for speaking in Chinese only (many conversations unprintable). Watched the sunset as a big group, then hurried back to the Piazza Roma to catch the 10:30 p.m. bus back to the campsite. We'll be coming together permanently finally in a couple of days, so stay tuned.
- travel - + europe grad trip - - as seen on PvPOnline, and explained later 10 June  Left Astley House in York after yet more bread and cornflakes for breakfast, sent my postcards (62p each to Singapore) and planned to visit Cambridge en route to Bath. Unfortunately, the purveyor of so much O and A-Level heartache was blanketed by rain, so we had few regrets about taking a few meaningless photos [1] and continuing our journey. Lunch: freshbite sandwiches [2] and crisps, washed down with fanta. Played yet more cards [3] to pass time on the train, then got greeted by a Had dinner at the bar to justify our seats, and I had sausages and mash(ed potatoes) [5], which began to have me doubting the dubious reputation of English food. sel had the job of dragging out our tenure by eating slowly, and he even ordered a Singapore Sling (or cough syrup, depending on who you believe), as England's millionaires made short work of the Andorran part-timers (6-0) [6]. Hooray. Walked the streets of Bath after ten in an attempt to restock our supply of bottled water, but apparently 24-hour stores aren't the custom here. Two nice young Asian ladies offered their help, but to no avail, and we went to our rest (but not before watching the first couple of episodes of Friends in the TV room, as we couldn't get the DVD player to work for American Pie) slightly thirsty. In Bath. 11 June  The top bunk [1] of Roome 8 was comfortable enough (we were told to take beds C, D and H, but were unable to find any labels), though the presence of other occupants meant that I was reluctant to unpack more than the bare minimum. Wifi from the neighbouring Podium shopping centre was available, but the environment was not conducive to typing. More of the same for breakfast [2], and we headed down to the Roman Baths, which are, as the name suggests, an excavation of a natural hot spring bath built up by the Romans [3]. We got the tickets that were bundled with admission to the Fashion Museum, a must-see in the guidebook. Having an audioguide made a great difference in our understanding, and perhaps the most memorable part of the tour was on the curses made by ancient Romans. Lost your cloak? Easy, scratch out a list of whomever you suspect has taken it on a bit of pewter, imploring a goddess to make their blood run as water. Enjoyed the uncommon but easy-listening music produced by a street performer [4] for a bit after sipping a complimentary glass of Bath water (not very good), then munched a ham sandwich [5] (with pigeons and seagulls [!} ready to pick up any scraps) before we availed ourselves of a free two-hour Bath walking tour, led by Mayor of Bath honorary guides [6], in our case an elderly white-haired but still sprightly lady. We learnt quite a bit more on the town (which was to be expected, as we knew next to zilch previously), much of which related to Richard Nash, who appointed himself Master of Ceremonies in 1735 and for the rest of his life shaped much of society in Bath. We wouldn't have guessed that the arrangement of houses in The Circus wasn't symmetrical either (10-11-12 instead of 11-11-11), not noticed the overhanging additions to houses that were actually Hanging Toilets, when residents started demanding the convenience of loos by bedrooms. No rare sightings of Falling Toilets, though. And we couldn't have guessed that the head of the statue on the left (sinister side, remember?) of Bath Abbey is smaller due to being used for archery practice by Cromwell's troops, could we?  Windows errors came before Microsoft But the craziest discovery of them all was the window tax, levied starting 1696, that encouraged homeowners to reduce their tax liabilities by either removing windows, or rebuilding them close to each other to be counted as a single window. The tour ended at four sharp, and we popped over to the Fashion Museum. Let's just say that we wouldn't have rated it a must-see, but I guess it hinges on your tastes. Being able to try out corsets wasn't our idea of having a good time. There was a drawing contest where visitors could win a year's free entry, and from the looks of it [7] the organizers are going to have a hard time finding a winner. Microwaved Ham & Mushroom Tagliatelle [8] for dinner (alvin's Faggots & Mash even got a photo request) while watching The Simpsons on tape and talking with a Malaysian in the TV room, as we waited till 8 p.m. for the highly-touted Bizarre Bath walk [9]. We were not to be disappointed. Unfortunately, describing it too deeply might spoil the show for those who might participate in the future, so let me just affirm that it's probably the best five pounds I have spent in England thus far. I'll also say that it mentions very little history (as they make clear from the beginning), isn't much of a walk either, and isn't even about Bath much; it is, however, a bunch of laughs (and as our guide/comedian said on hearing that a member of the audience was German, "This is a comedy walk!"). His ad-lib abilities were quite astonishing, and it's a skill I really wish to master someday. Even he can't get them all, though, and laughing at oneself a bit seems to help a lot during awkward moments of silence. Let's face it, people would rather see a chained bunny tossed into a river than nearly two thousand years of history - have I said too much? 12 June  Packed (easy to do as I had hardly taken anything out) and left for Salisbury, a historic town in its own right, but just a stopover on the way to Stonehenge for us. Heard that Real's 80 million pound bid for C. Ronaldo had been accepted - shock, horror, where do the underachieving buggers get their money from? We did pick up another ham sandwich [1] for lunch there, not before depositing our baggage at the Cat Tavern (which ironically had several dogs but no cats) and boarding a bus for Amesbury, which we had read was a half-hour's walk from the big pile of old rocks. But hey, they give a free monument in all your cities in Civilization 4, so it must be something. A friendly local pointed us in the right direction, and we were well pleased to spot a Stonehenge - 2 miles sign after awhile. We then came across a fork and another sign claiming two-and-a-half miles to the site, and we decided to take the nice farm route. It seemed a great idea at first, as we entered an idyllic landscape of green fields and hills as far as the eye could see, something which is quite impossible in Singapore. After more marching and sporadic singing of army songs, we had the stones in our sights [4], but there the path abruptly ended. Disbelieving, we branched out and backtracked, but found nothing, and quite indignant at being misled, we felt justified in cutting across the final cereal field as a last resort. We did try to follow the tractor tracks whenever possible to minimize damage, and moreover the thigh-high grasses would provide good cover in case a shotgun-wielding farmer suddenly sprang out of nowhere. This would have been the first time my military training has found direct practical usage. We got through without incident, but were confronted by a final obstacle - a barbed wire fence. Jumper alvin was confident enough to bet his nuts on vaulting it with hand support, but the rest of us decided that discretion was the better part of possible castration, and put our leopard-crawling skills to good use.  I rocks Got charged over five pounds for the privilege of rounding the rocks with an audioguide, and we made the most of it with a lot of photos. To be honest, it was slightly smaller and less impressive than I had imagined, ditto with most of the landmarks (cathedrals, stadiums, etc) we had visited thus far, therefore the admonition on never meeting one's heroes. One may be disappointed. Enquired about taking a bus back, but as that proved impossible, we got smart and took the route along the major road back to town. Train to London followed, where we once more split up with alvin, who had another lobang. Sel and I then bought sandwiches from Marks & Spencer for dinner [5] and redirected ourselves to St. Mary's Cray, where an old lady proved incredibly helpful with directions, such that we found the Mary Rose Hotel (or rather, Inn) without too much trouble. Room 34 [6] was tucked away in a cosy corner, and was quite adequate, expect for the lack of Wifi. There weren't even any other sources I could expect to piggyback on. No worries, there's Wifi in the lounge. But no power. Argh. In the end, I just took a bath (bathtub only, no shower) and slept. Will be camping at Stansted tomorrow night, so don't expect another update so soon...
- travel - + europe grad trip - You tell them Welbeck and Macheda are doing really well." - One United poster in Old Trafford 9 June  Breakfast at eight keeping to one type of flakes this time, then filled out two postcards [1] to two lucky recepients (to be revealed). Couldn't manage to find sufficient time to locate the Post Office as sel and I rushed to catch the 11:28 to Piccadilly, Manchester, so their sending will have to wait. Arrived just before one, waited for alvin to rendezvous after he slept around for a couple of nights, and polished off a communal 10-piece chicken bucket with four servings of fries [2] from KFC for ten pounds - can't go far wrong with that. Throughout human history, men have held many places as sacred, and expended much time and effort into visiting those grounds; spots where guys were said to rise bodily into heaven (or perform other equivalent miracles), big black boxes, stone circles and remote mountain tops are just some common choices. While a man's faith is a private thing, I feel compelled to say that for me, there are few holier areas on this planet than Old Trafford [3]. The employee at the tour counter suggested a student discount to us though we had not known it existed, proving that my faith in the club was not misplaced. We were adorned with a lanyard holding our hard-won tickets (seven-odd pounds a head), and joined the 3 p.m. tour group. Our guide Ian, a manager of match stewarts on matchdays, then revealed to us the mythical pitch. There was no need to avert our eyes lest we be blinded, though, as the ground was being returfed [4]. Snapped our photos with the stands as a backdrop (while being part of the background on MUTV, so said Ian), and walked through the Munich Tunnel memorial with a squalling infant practising his cheers early. The guide was likely an old hand with such cases, and tamed the baby with a rattling of his keys. Pity the parents didn't pick up on the idea.  The High Seat (photo credit: selwyn) The Players' Lounge and dressing room were up next, and they were a bit less luxurious and a fair bit smaller than I had imagined. The order of the players' seats was, by the way, roughly from defence to attack in a clockwise direction, but the far corner had Ronaldo - Rooney - (Corner) - Giggs - Scholes - Tevez, and was easily the most popular for photographs. To my surprise, Scholes seemed more in demand than Ronaldo! This batch of worshippers do know their stuff. Incredibly, the dressing room was once even smaller, back when Cantona demanded (and got) his own private warm-up space.  This was once a one penny coin The Players' Tunnel, and the top tiers were out of bounds due to renovations, so we skipped to the Museum (again a bit smaller than expected). It closed at five p.m. and we were forced to leave, but not before availing ourselves of a machine that, for the donation of a single pound, flattened a penny into a cool souvenir on the turning of a wheel. The Megastore was open till six, but I didn't nearly need quite that much time as I went on my biggest spending spree of my holidays so far. A Man Utd necktie, anyone? I even kept one of the United clothes hangars that was offered - that's apparently the practice when purchasing clothes in England...  Best, Law, Charlton - Three are One and One is Three Left after a last photo with the United Trinity, taking the bus back to Piccadilly where another of alvin's friends (studying at the University of Manchester) awaited us. She took us on a short tour through the surrounding area, which was chockful of shopping malls such as the Arndale [5, with the Wheel of Manchester in the background], and later into the Manchester Chinatown [6]. The city (at least the part we walked in) is modern, and the overall feel resembles Singapore more than about any other place we have visited thus far. No suitable buffet opportunities presented themselves, so we took another bus ride on our daily pass to the Rusholme Curry Mile. We were soon persuaded by a free snack-and-beverages-and-15%-student-discount offer by the Shahenshah Restaurant [7 (with [8] being alvin taking the photo in [7])], and I ordered Kastari [9, no relation to Mas Selamat, it's sweet and sour chicken with orange flavouring]. alvin bravely asked for, and got, more free tea - given the thickness of his epidermis, it's a wonder that he seems to dislike the cold most (just joking, lah). Free Chupa Chups on settling the bill. Bid farewell to alvin's pal at nine-plus, and rode in a bus crowded with young organized pub crawlers (wearing T-shirts with checkboxes to record visits), and played Big Two on the 10:48 back to York, reaching our hostel just after midnight. Will have to share the bed with alvin (AHHHHHHHHHHHH).
- travel - + europe grad trip - 8 June  A sound sleep in the four-poster bed later, I woke and had a mixed breakfast of four different types of cornflakes in the dining room at eight. Fueled for the brisk ten-minute walk to the old town centre, we re-encountered our daily dose of dry English humour en route:  An equal opportunity retailer (SPAR reference) A few of you may be scratching your heads as to why we're in York instead of some more famous present day city like say, Manchester, Liverpool, Newcastle or even Birmingham, but back in the days of yore before the football league began (yes, that long ago), York was a fairly significant town. Constantine the Great was proclaimed Roman Emperor here back in 306 (then Eboracum), their Duke lost the War of the Roses in 1487 and local bad boy Guy Fawkes almost blew up Parliament with lots of gunpowder in 1605. Terrorism is good business when it passes into the history books, though, and now the city isn't shy about riding on his name for the tourism dollar. Arriving from Clifton Bootham road, we encountered the York Art Gallery, which would probably have been a bit of a letdown after the treasures of the Prado, no disrespect intended. Old William Ettyra [1], Royal Academician circa 1828, didn't quite mind - how could he when he has a bird on his head? The grounds of the Museum Gardens (we skipped the Museum itself) were sprinkled with Roman ruins [2], but the local wildlife was more eye-opening. A fat squirrel romped while a thin one posed for photos, and the birds actually sat down and did people-watching on the grass! I've never seen that before, but when the temperature is so comfortably cool, it's understandable. Began the City Walls walk from the Multangular tower, and trudged along the stone defences that date from the 13th century, but first raised maybe a thousand years before that. The graves of plague victims and the heads of rebels once accompanied the walls [3], but now it's just a nice path for a breezy stroll round the old city. Any remaining ghosts need not be too discouraged, as I counted no less than four organized "ghost walk" operators, at which they can surely find suitable employment.  Note the date of proclamation Gawked at the not-very-towering Clifford's Tower [4] (helped however by the round mound it sits on), where 150 poor Jews lost their lives in a fire after being shut up there by a mob. Chuckled at some Horrible Histories titles (especially The Barmy British Empire) at the York Castle Museum gift shop, then stopped for lunch at the Jade Garden Cantonese Restaurant in the area. One guesses that the owners may be Malaysian, as Terima Kasih can be found in the menu (along with Singapore Fried Rice). Availed ourselves of the three-course special lunch menu for 5.95 Euros, and I had Chicken Noodle soup followed by Sweet & Sour Chicken with Egg Fried Rice [5], and finished with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream. One may question our reliance on Chinese and fast food in England, but given the reputation of English cuisine, I feel that falling back on known qualities is not unwarranted. Made our way to the heart of the old town, where the huge York Minster stands. Still slightly sick of cathedrals, we gave its insides a miss. The comparatively tiny St Michael le Belfrey church nestles awkwardly off the side, and it may seem redundant to have it right by a bloody big cathedral, until one realises that even before God, some - make that most - did not quite qualify for first-class service, so there you go. Fawkes was baptized there, by the way. The Minster is also the seat of the Archbishop of York of the Church of England (also known as the Anglican Church), which more or less split off from Rome because King Henry the Eighth wanted a divorce back in 1534. Since the stuffy old Pope said no, Henry played hardball and declared himself God's Head Representative on Earth (valid in England only), and that was that. No significant plagues, lightning storms or showers of blood were observed, so we can only surmise that God didn't object, and good old Henry VIII wielded his newfound right to divorce with gusto, marrying six times and beheading two wives. Can't help but admire his style, if not his taste. York isn't shy about honouring its sons (both famous and less so) and monarchs, and plaques commemorating their lives and deeds abound - such as the one to one John Goodricke, who got elected a fellow of the Royal Society aged 21 despite being deaf and dumb, but sadly died a year later. I'm still just happy to be able to understand the words, after my time in Spain. Visited the tearoom of the Treasurer's House where Goodricke did his observations, but was more taken by the front garden [7], which seemed perfect for a mini football pitch. Having more or less exhausted the free attractions of York, we wandered the commercial areas, where sel found fit to buy a good pair of shorts for 12 pounds at bhs, and was flabbergasted when the cashier informed him that he could claim a free T-shirt for purchases over ten. I held out until the Publishers' Book Clearance outlet, where after a long, long look I selected What Are You Optimistic About, The Secret History of Assassination - Their Killers and Paymasters Revealed, and Poker: How To Play, How To Win. Honourable mentions for catching my attention briefly were: Firsts, Lasts & Onlys: Military; Poolside (a waterproof book!); The Naughty Girl's Guide to Life (funny); and Do Ants Have Arseholes?: And 101 Other Bloody Ridiculous Questions (I suppose they do), all on a two-for-three pounds-or-two-pounds-each offer. Stopped by a pound shop where I got a pack of five disposable safety razors for 50 pence (and promptly nicked myself with one back at the hostel). Freed from the agony of wondering whether my baggage can be carried on, as it surely can't now, we went for the so-called New Walk down River Ouse, south of Skeldergate Bridge. We passed plenty of joggers, cyclists and dog walkers, kids climbing trees, and more bleeping swans sitting down at the riverside. Let's see them get relaxed next to a restaurant, huh? Crossed the swanky new Millenium Bridge [8], and went into Rowntree Park at the end of the walk, where it appears they have every sporting facility imaginable - tennis courts, basketball courts, a football pitch, a skate park, even a table tennis table... you name it, they have it. Not only that, the park supported a colony of geese, who obligingly dotted footpaths with their not inconsiderable excrement. All was forgiven when I spotted the tiny goslings, though.  Two little goslings in a pond Dinner at the same place as yesterday's, and this time it was fries and two pieces of chicken [9] for me. English servings are very generous. Tip of the day: Old men appear to be the most helpful, when asking for directions - and two of them actually said 你好! Spotted: One Man Utd and one Liverpool jersey; and maybe a York City FC one, but I wouldn't know.
- travel - + europe grad trip - - waiter in a Chinese restaurant in Madrid 6 June  The last day of our stint in Spain began with a heap of noodles [1], at least in my case, as I bought an identical packet of chicken-flavoured ones to the one I already had, for a bumper serving. The hostel graciously agreed to let us keep our backpacks in the kitchen-cum-luggage room (where we chatted with an architecture student from China, and our last encounter was with an Italian cooking what else but pasta) despite us officially checking out at 11 a.m., thus removing one of our headaches as we resolved to give Madrid one last spin. My newly-shortened fingernails (thanks to a nailclipper on a keychain bought just for the purpose) only added to the sense of freshness. The Santiago Bernabéu stadium was squeezed out of our tight schedule, as the Temple of Debod won the right of first visit. It's not just any run-of-the-mill temple either, but an ancient Egyptian one, transported stone-by-stone and reconstructed on its current site in the Parque de Rosales, with two sets of arches [2] heralding the main structure proper. Despite its promising origins, there's nothing remotely dark or mysterious about it, as plenty of spotlights, refurbished wooden steps and helpful signs [3] present themselves at every turn, and that's not mentioning the hordes of visitors. I've breathed mustier air in some hostels, and it's essentially a museum that happens to have some of its walls as the exhibits themselves. The carvings mostly depict kings and pharaohs trying to curry favour with their gods with various little bribes, such as pitchers of water and crummy necklaces. One might think that most decent gods would have demanded a bit more imagination after a few centuries of identical trifles, but then it appears the practice is still well and alive today, so I suspect that mineral water bottlers and jewellers may still be in short supply in heaven (any entrepreneurs interested in some import-export action?). The great pharaohs of old may be further consoled that their dedication to the divine may now be recorded for posterity by hordes of heathen camera-wielding tourists - and remember, admission is free. Made our way back to the Príncipe Pío metro station, and the mall attached to it. The flower bouquet vending machines [4] were a particular eye-opener (there were ones for paperbacks as well), though the prices were not inviting at all. Those at McDonald's were, as usual, and two Euros got two BBQ Chicken burgers [5], by now a staple, for lunch. Note: The McOutlets in Spain seen so far have abandoned their usual red-and-yellow scheme for a metal-and-wood look - pandering to local tastes, perhaps? We popped into the Zara store in the basement, alerted by law that prices may be cheaper at the source. Turns out that they may be, but not by much if at all. Got to the Museo del Prado by about two-thirty, and spent four Euros each to wander the over one hundred halls for several hours. Security was tight, with all our bags being held in the cloakroom for the duration of the visit, prudent with a collection of near-incalculable value. Unfortunately, photography was disallowed within the museum, so the only image of a Goya I could take was his statue outside [6], but most of the works should be online somewhere, if one knows what titles to search for (Google Earth has highly detailed scans of a few of the pictures). It is no easy thing to discern the superlative from the merely exceptional, and being without formal training in art we had to take the museum's word for it on the top masterpieces there. In a way, it was a little underwhelming if one expects to be blown away immediately by the supposed best of the best, but as Hemingway acknowledged ("...I have watched them being puzzled. These cannot be great pictures, the colors are too fresh and they are too simple to see.") even literary genius does not automatically translate into even basic recognition of artistic merit, so we could not be too disappointed. The lack of commentary in English for most of the pieces was the greatest handicap for us. With time running out, we made a quick trip to the nearby Parque del Buen Retiro (i.e. Retiro Park) for a fast walk and sit-down by the side of the lake [7], where schools of aggressive fish could make scraps of food vanish almost before they hit the water. Had a run-in with another pickpocket, this time a young lady with a sweater slung over her arm (held at waist level). This hid her hand, as she blocked my entrance and tried to work the zipper of my daypack, which I had slung in front of me. A helping hand from alvin stopped that attempt, after which she stood around as if nothing had happened. At least the buskers who come in and play loud (and not particularly good) music do something for their coin. Our last meal in Spain was in a Chinese restaurant just a couple of storefronts away from our hostel, where I had 三鲜炒饭 [8] for three Euros and a bit and shared a bowl of chicken stew. It was also here that a friendly waiter made the quote that heads this post, after we displayed the ability to converse in Mandarin, suggesting that our Speak English campaign may have gone slightly overboard. I polished off the apple that I had been saving for days, and we collected our stuff and lugged it back to the Barajas airport, where we staked out a cushy corner next to a pillar [9, view from that spot], and alvin didn't manage to get his Madrid postcard. I whiled away a couple of hours with the travel guidebook, before settling down to sleep with my head on my backpack. 7 June  I soon discovered that my stuffed backpack was not the best of pillows, and instead extracted my sweater for that purpose. That did the trick until four-plus in the morning, where I woke and decided that the sweater would serve better worn on my torso instead. Well, it was about time to check in anyway, and I ended up being a further 20 Euros out of pocket as my luggage had somehow swelled to 11 kilograms in weight. Being a bit of an Anglophile, I was rather looking forward to setting foot on England, but wasn't all that surprised as the Ryanair jet touched down in driving rain - the head stewardess cheerily wishing us a nice trip as we dashed down the ramp stairs and across the uncovered tarmac to the terminal seemed terribly British humour. Stansted Airport being some distance from London, we boarded the Stansted Express train for a 45 minute ride into the city proper. Tried an interactive trip planner, which had the neat option of being able to print out suggested routes [1], not that any of them took fewer than four hours. I was already feeling much happier at being able to understand signs and posters, and more importantly, communicate effectively. Many of the poster advertisements appeared to be for novels, something that just isn't seen back home. The rail employee who validated our BritRail passes even mentioned that his wife had been nagging him to bring her shopping at Orchard Road, after hearing that we were from Singapore. I believe that the Spanish are no less friendly, just that it was difficult for them to express themselves in a non-native tongue. Soon after, we talked with the guy who pushes the drinks cart down the train cars, who happened to be from Uzbekistan - the wonders of a common language! Bought an Oyster card and split with alvin at the Seven Sisters, as he went to live with a friend for a couple of days. I headed with sel down to the famous King's Cross station, three stops down the metro, where we boarded the 10:30 to Glasgow (passing by York). As the BritRail pass covered everything, there was no hassle involving reservations and extra payments, making me like the place more and more, even if I subsisted on a few Kit Kat bars [2] for breakfast. Zipped by White Hart Lane and the Emirates (imposing from the outside) among other landmarks, as the weather took turns to change from fair to funny along the way, and I amused myself by watching raindrops chase one another horizontally across the train windows [3]. Special mention: Each seat in the train appears to have a power socket and Wifi access, though I didn't try that due to the relative shortness of the trip. Landed in York on time, and our next problem was locating the hostel (Astley House), even after seeking help at Tourist Information. We set out upon a rather discouraging walk down Clifton street, and were aghast when the door numbers appeared to halt at 122 (on the side of a convenience store). The locals we approached were more than helpful, with one old guy in particular going out of his way to give further advice, but none of them were sure exactly where the hostel was. We finally found Astley House down the road and across the street, and frankly given our experience we can't give it high marks for location. The other aspects are another matter altogether - we had feared for the worst after the hostel was rated rather poorly (#157 of 177 B&Bs in York, last checked) on one site, but the price was right and the manageress was helpful (and moreover had a very cute toddler). She gave us a three-man room (with a double four-poster bed [4]) for all three nights, despite us needing the full capacity only for the last night. The room and ensuite bathroom was clean enough, with a warm carpeted floor, and even complimentary bath and shower gel. I don't know of the experiences of past guests, but I'm having a pleasant one myself so far. We even have a direct view of the clocktower of the Clifton Parish Church across the street from our window. The winds, given that it is nominally summer, were something else altogether, and made me wonder just how footballers play in England. I had a craving for fish and chips, but only found a shop serving them with some trouble (strange since our room has an explicit warning against bringing the dish in). Even the small version was very generous [5], and I followed that up by purchasing a copy of The Sunday Times [6] for a whopping two pounds. At these prices, it's no wonder why they say the print media is dying, though the article quality may be very good. Would it be too hard to sell the sections separately? Left the evening free for rest and relaxation after a Donor Kebab dinner (no photo for once, but it was hefty strips of meat on a bit of bread in a light orange takeaway foam box), considering the conditions of last night. (N.B. For those who got rickroll'd, here's the real website for Astley House. Sorry, couldn't resist.
- travel - + europe grad trip - 5 June  N.B. Will be sleeping at a Madrid airport tomorrow night awaiting a morning flight to London, so don't expect updates for a while. Today: Two very sweet apple tarts [1] as a pick-me-up breakfast (after last night's six-Oreos-for-an-Euro), and a morning visit to the bullfighting arena, Plaza de Toros [2]. Fortune was not on our side once again, as we couldn't locate the museum within. There wasn't much for it but to cut our losses and head for the bus station for a 45 minute ride out to Toledo, Spain's ancient capital. The 12:30 coach stopped some distance from the historic centre of Toledo, and we ended up trudging uphill only to discover banks of elevators awaiting more discerning visitors. Toledo has, of course, the obligatory cathedral and fort, which we skipped (the latter was under renovation anyway). Our first concern was lunch, and we went for the one Euro (now actually 1.20 Euros [3]) "very filling meat sandwiches" recommended by the guidebook (perhaps that's why the price increased). Alvin confidently ordered two of them, leading us to follow blindly, and the storeowner promptly proceeded to cut a huge baguette in half, then lengthwise, and stuff it with assorted meat and cheese - which makes a single bocata [4]. We struggled bravely to consume the certainly very filling meal on the doorstep of a closed establishment, and ended up lugging three-and-a-bit bocatas for the remainder of the day. We proceeded in an anticlockwise direction around the small town centre, ringed by the river Rio Tajo. First stop was the Sinagoga de Santa Maria La Blanca, a Jewish synagogue that currently hosts a religiously-themed art exhibition, with many pieces in red pencil. Photography was, alas, banned inside. Having seen one synagogue, we felt able to skip the other (Sinagoga de El Tránsito) south of the first, and also passed by the slightly underwhelming San Tome Church.  San Martin Sights (photo credit: selwyn) The many metalwork (which Toledo is famed for) shops dotted around the town were in my opinion as good as the actual attractions, with their signature Damascene technique that produces images or patterns in striking bright gold on a black steel background. Apparently, many of the impressively complicated works are handmade, and one owner was kind enough to give a short demonstration [5]. Their true expertise is probably blades [6], but good luck trying to get one of those babies back to Singapore. More random encounters were to come, as an elderly European lady tried to speak to us at a bus stop, and from what little we could gather she wanted to get to the train station (which we had no idea how to). An Asian couple there offered to take her off our hands, and upon asking where we were from said that they "thought so". Are Singaporeans that easily spotted? An Indian guy standing at the doorway of Lladró, a high-end porcelain shop, then helped us with directions, and we ended up having a rather long chat with him, with the topic straying from nationalities (few Singaporeans, but many Chinese, Japanese and Koreans in these parts), to sport (do we watch cricket?) and other stuff (he got here after a Spanish pal applied for a visa on his behalf). Not that he had much to do otherwise - with most of his wares costing hundreds of Euros, up to a staggering 120000 Euros (!) [7], I doubt there are many walk-in customers. Heck, the place could probably pass as a museum. Not that all the people we met were as nice. We had a run-in in the morning with a touristy-looking fellow who claimed to be from Senegal, would be in town for only a few hours, and needed to find a bank. After shaking our hands heartily, he showed us a bill from some country, then requested out of nowhere to look at European currency. Slightly wiser, we pretended not to have any notes on us, whereby he walked away without another word. Suspicious! Rounding the cathedral, we eyeballed Toledo's Alcázar while looking out for reasonably-priced eats, especially the partridge that was highly praised by the guidebook. Sadly, a concurrence of the two wants wasn't found. Checked into the Museo de Santa Cruz about an hour before closing time (6:30 p.m.) for a free exhibition, during which it began to rain in Spain (and not even on the plains) for the first time. Further encouraged by the bitterly cold winds, we ducked into the nearest restaurant, where I sampled their Paella del Senorita, a seafood rice dish with squid, prawns and mussels [8]. Tasty if slightly dear at 11 Euros, but then I've supposedly not been spending enough. Dinner took us until almost eight (though the sky looked as if it was three, which takes some getting used to), and after a final walk [9, some flag-covered building] to view the Mezquita del Cristo de la Luz (a historic mosque) that turned out to be also under renovation, we got the 8:30 coach back to Madrid and retired straight after that.
- travel - + europe grad trip - Because he goes... WATARRR!" - Yes, somebody was feeling lame during the Alhambra visit 4 June  I'm typing this while sitting on a chair and with the netbook on a table for once, so yes, I have only good things to say about our hostel in Madrid, the Students Hostel Luis Velez. Yes, we had to book a four-man room (No. 243) for three, but at about 15 Euros per bed per night, it's well worth it. Another five-hour train journey from Granada to Madrid, the bulk of which I spent sleeping as we got four seats facing each other. Breakfasted on four small lemon cupcakes [1] and played yet more Big 2 when awake. Got back to the Spanish capital at about two in the afternoon, and was surprised to find the elevator instructions in Chinese [2] in addition to Spanish and English. A hint as to their usual clientele? The hostel had no pretensions regarding age unlike our previous one, and the furnishing was unabashedly modern [3] (I like!). It also has light sensors in the corridors, but sadly no electric fans either, a grievous oversight. The Wifi worked as promised, and have I mentioned the table and chair? Not having had a proper lunch, the first order of business was to finally cook some of our instant noodles in the kitchen, where we found just one suitable (if oversized) pot. My duck noodles [4] turned out alright, especially as I now had the freedom to add as much seasoning as I wanted without getting an earful. Settled accounts after that, and it turned out that I had spent only about 300 Euros (not including railpasses and air tickets, but including hostel fees, food and other purchases) in my first ten days in Europe. If it goes on at this rate, I'll be returning home with a lot of cash on hand. We began our ventures by popping down to the nearest Chinese-run grocery store (they're everywhere) and picking up water supplies, while I got a second packet of instant noodles of the same flavour as my remaining one for a possible double helping. With the ever-useful Rick Steves' guide in hand, our next stop was the Plaza Mayor for its tourist information counter. The plaza is today a vast expanse of flat ground, though in the past it had been a park with fountains (presumably removed due to maintenance issues?), and had held such events as bullfights and even executions during the Spanish Inquisition.  Street artists exhibit their waresWent to the Casa Rua bar as suggested by the guidebook, and ordered three bocadillos de calamare (squid sandwich) [5] at 2.25 Euros each. I would have another. We then headed over to the nearby (and very crowded) Puerta del Sol, where alvin took the chance to stand at the symbolic centre of Spain [6]. Continued following the recommended walking tour in the guidebook to the letter, stopping at the Salon La Mallorquina confectionery [7] for more light snacking. Passed by the newly-renovated Mercado de San Miguel (think high-class wet market), and checked out the door of the Monasterio del Corpus Christi [8], where nuns sell dulces (sweets) to the public - some sins are forgivable, after all. Unfortunately, they were long closed for the day. Noticed that the police aren't shy about using their right of way, blaring through red lights more than once, which may have rankled this particular scooter rider:  And give yourself parking ticketsThe cathedral of Almudena and the (outside of the) Palacio Real (Royal Palace) [9, taking in the sights while seated] were next on the list, and not very far away at all. Made it to the Sabatini Gardens [more info] about ten minutes before closing time (nine p.m.), and snapped a few shots before a guard began gesturing for all visitors to leave. Plenty of dogs running about - the Spanish seem to love their canines, which may explain why one beggar was hugging one while taking collections outside the confectionery earlier.  Dog, bear, dogbear? (photo credit: alvin)Wandered briefly into the Plaza Oriente right in front of the palace, before continuing northwards to the Plaza de España, where we could not help but notice couples in the throes of passion everywhere - the Iberian temperament showing through, probably. Or it could be the simple need for warmth, as strong winds lashed about with an air temperature of about 22 degrees. A nice change from Andalusia. Waited till ten for the sun to set further, then walked the Gran Via (also known as the Spanish Broadway) and got a headstart on picking up souvenirs. Not too shabby for half a day in Madrid.
- travel - + europe grad trip - over what you could not defend as a man." - Mother of Nasrid ruler Muhammad XII to her son, as he sighed after being forced to surrender Granada in 1492 2 June  Bid farewell to the people we got to know in Sevilla (where NO8DO was seriously prominent [1]) after a breakfast of yet more sliced bread (and a final cup of free hot chocolate). We then boarded the next train to Granada.  Adios SevillaNo televisions on this slightly more dated carriage, but it was of little importance as I had my netbook out to prepare blog entries. Lunch, taken during the five-hour journey, was four slices of ham on a third of a baguette [2]. Took pictures of the environment at random intervals [3], since I had a window seat for the first time. Lots of farmland along the route, dotted with little houses and shacks - it really boggles the mind to imagine the history of each and every one of them. Granada wasn't a very big station compared to others we had seen, but our view of the Sierra Nevada mountains once we disembarked was breathtaking. Wondered if the streaks of white on the tops were snow, in the scorching heat. Thankfully, due to the lower humidity, the discomfort from sweating wasn't as bad as it would have been back in Singapore, and there's the added bonus of getting a tan. Arrived at the Hostal AB and was delighted to find that it was thoroughly modern and spotlessly clean. Frankly, for all the character of hostels in older buildings, I still prefer new furniture all the way. Our room 113 was just that, with three beds [4] on metal frames, and a fresh smell, and toilets were abundant and yes, clean. The management even felt they had to age the room a bit, with wooden bed headboards and a decorative strip of wallpaper. There was even a small TV, and the only gripes I had were the lack of a fan, and the lack of a Wifi signal (but nothing that can't be compensated for). In all, it's truly a steal at 12 Euros a night. Handwashed my laundry and hung it out, before we took a walk of the Albacin (i.e. Arab) Quarter of the town. Granada somehow felt newer, or at least cleaner, than Barcelona and Seville - not sure if the hostel contributed to that. Picked up two litre bottles of mineral water at the supermarket at 26 cents each, surprising considering Granada is supposedly suffering a drought, and picked up more bread and some orange jam [6] for tomorrow (breakfast not included). Sated our hunger with shawarma for dinner at a tiny shop that only had seating for half a dozen customers. Pollo al pincho [5] for me. 3 June  Another day, another cathedral [1, entrance shown], and Granada's quite similar to Sevilla's with the same Moorish influences, thus I'm skipping the details (and photos). That took most of the morning, and we lunched at Kabab King, where two Chich kebabs [2] and a Döner were ordered. We then continued trekking up and down the Albacin [3] to while time away before hitting the Alhambra, that "pearl set in emeralds". Gave in to temptation and bought a Magnum White ice-cream to help alleviate the heat. The walk up [4] to the entrance was rather long and steep, but eventually we made it. Bearing in mind that our scheduled timeslot for the Nasrid Palace was at 5 pm, and that several of the areas within the Alhambra are strangely single-visit only, we wandered about the grounds. We chanced upon a photography exhibition in the Palacio de Carlos V on the Brown Sisters [5], where Nicholas Nixon snapped his wife and her three sisters annually for the past three decades. Probably worth a peek online at least. The palaces themselves were reminiscent of the Alcázar, as they should well be, with the view (and winds) from the top of the watchtower [6] more stimulating for me. The summer place of Generalife [7] (i.e. Architect's Garden, though insurance companies should really consider sponsorship) was the most beautiful for me, with lots of flowing water [8] (though fountains must be a pain to upkeep, and look bad when stagnant - as my town council back in Jurong probably realised). The flora [9] was pretty too.  Granada's fast food(sel's camera again after mine ran out of memory) Hungry with all that walking, I opted for the "Döner Kebap Doble" (foreground, above photo) at the Nemrut outlet, which comes with more meat than you can shake a chicken at in a hamburger bun for 4.50 Euros, and it was absolutely delicious. I'll be a willing customer the next time kebabs are on sale at NUS. Finally headed up to the Mirador de San Nicolas for the famed sunset view of the Alhambra framed against the mountains, but we arrived far too early (before eight pm), and spent a couple of hours listening to buskers crooning (they were good, I'll give them that, and did indeed give an Euro) and watching dogs chase each other (the place is some sort of canine social ground). The sky finally agreed to dim at ten, but the view was a tad disappointing. Nothing PhotoshopTM can't fix, of course.  No golden sunset (photo credit: alvin)
- travel - + europe grad trip - [Note by Mr. Ham and Mr. Fish: And Zero Hamsters :(] 30 May  After a bowl of cornflakes at the hostel, we lugged our belongings to the train station and dumped them into the paid lockers (generously sized, 3.50 Euros for 24 hours. Returned to the Camp Nou area, where We bought two baguettes on the cheap at a supermarket for lunch, where a helpful employee not only estimated that we would need twenty slices of ham, and furthermore cut our bread for us. The lunch [1], taken in a nearby small plaza, was one of the best so far. Got our tickets for the Camp Nou museum/stadium tour (stadium alone not an option), but in retrospect the museum was worth the price of admission. The stadium came first, and after a short 3D Virtual tour we continued with the dressing rooms (which had a jacuzzi [2]) and worked our way upwards to the dugouts [3] and pitch (not allowed to step on it, though), then the stands, and finally the press boxes hanging at the very top.  I Nou U Un AhThe museum was next, and the very comprehensive exhibition was centered about the life of founder Joan Gamper [4], and interwove his history and the club's with the development of modern sport in Europe. Left in the evening after viewing the Champions League trophy (and wondering what might have been), walked along the Ramblas one last time (where I discovered additional pet shops with even more exotic animals [5] - perhaps they were closed the first evening), and then went back to the Travel Bar for a Spanish Cooking lesson (18 Euros each). The lesson itself wasn't in-depth (as would be expected from such a short one). The tapas course consisted of rubbing tomatoes and garlic on slices of cut bread, then topping it off with a couple of choices of meat and a tortilla, for instance. Sangria was basically throwing cut fruit into a jug of brandy, mixing it up and adding ice and sugar, while topping it off with wine and fruit juice. Neither was really to my taste, and I let my share stand after several sips, in contrast to alvin who polished off several glasses. It was the company that stood out, and we had the good fortune to be seated with two guys from Mexico and a quite vivacious black gal from Kenya, who signed up for the class after going on the bar's walking tour. Although I say Kenya, we were never quite sure, since she had lived in Australia for much of her life, and New Zealand for eight years on top of that. She was quite the traveller, having quit her job as a pharmacist to globetrot for a year, and in addition to North America (San Francisco highly rated), Africa (with the advice not to hold out anything remotely valuable in less reputable areas, or it will be snatched right out of one's hand) and assorted countries in Europe (she was incredulous when we said that we had ditched France for England), she had also made a tour of South-east Asia, where she stressed the importance of driving a hard bargain (other than in Singapore, of course). Supposedly, good rooms were to be had for like five US dollars a night, and there was a street of tailors in Vietnam that would make just about any outfit requested in hours for just US$30. On Singapore (where she began her tour of the region), her major impression was that it appeared "very controlled", and of course relatively expensive, though the shopping was good. The Mexicans were quite disbelieving on hearing that we banned chewing gum. Another observation was that Singaporeans dislike walking and the sun, preferring elevators, escalators and covered walkways (which I hadn't realised). On the plus side, Singapore was rated very safe, with the best food in the region along with Thailand. The Mexicans were only slightly less gregarious, and one of them was a fellow Computer Science graduate, who had been living and working in the States for some time (including Iowa, which he emphatically said, "had absolutely nothing" - with a pig passing by the most interesting thing he encountered there). The other was a Barca fan (with the jersey to prove it) working for a power company. They talked about their homeland for a bit too, and supposedly nearly everyone speaks Spanish there, with dialects only used in the smaller settlements in the jungled south (which they admitted they hadn't visited). They extended an invitation to the Kenyan gal to take her around if she were to visit Mexico in the future. Oh, and they revealed one of the perks of being a Mexican now - just pretend to speak Mexican into your handphone in a crowded area, and a path is automatically cleared.  Who's Who?(photo taken with sel's dim-light-specialist camera) The mood was further boosted when paella was served, even if none of us had been paying too much attention to the preparation [6], and we concluded a quite delightful evening with a group photograph. With our time in Barcelona coming to an end, we rushed down to see at least one of Gaudi's architectural works before leaving. The Sangra Familia was just a few stops away by metro, and we were duly impressed by our first sighting of it - only to discover that we were looking at the back. The Spanish appear quite relaxed about this particular construction, as it's still ongoing after over half a century. Nothing out of the ordinary for cathedrals, it has to be said. Moments after being awed by its size, I remembered that most modern skyscrapers are far taller (and even the block of flats I live in may be comparable), if less intricate. All the more reason to recognize the unheralded achievements of man, then. 31 May  Having discovered that there were no affordable overnight train bunks to be had when we checked yesterday (where I happened to be asked for directions by a Chinese lady tourist), and without accommodations for the night, a bit of improvisation was in order. A train ride to Barcelona's airport cost about two Euros each, where we commandeered a row of seats for the night. Unfortunately, the arm handles precluded lying down and the lights were perpetually on, making it a distinctly uncomfortable experience even after we lay on the floor [1]. I could only look forward to dozing off on the six-hour Barcelona-Sevilla train ride later. Ate a ham and bacon breakfast [2] [Mr. Ham: AHHHHHHHHH] at the train station's McDonald's, while stocking up on one Euro burgers for lunch. Didn't feel as tired as I feared, and after a few hours I rewatched Kung Fu Panda on the overhead TVs [3], before playing yet more Big 2 (high point: a royal flush in clubs). Checked in at the Hostel Nuevo Suizo, where we took beds six to eight in their nine-man dorm. We would miss their free flamenco show (wrong day) and free international calls (Singapore not included), but the wifi was passable, and their free coffee (and hot chocolate) was a boon. Popped by the Alcázar, which didn't seem all too impressive until we realised that the courtyard [4] was not the much-touted gardens, which were rather larger (including a hedge maze). It's a good visit if one likes intricate tile patterns [5, example from the hostel's walls], carvings and huge tapestries. Took the opportunity to call home [6] from a neighbourhood calling service centre, at fifteen cents a minute (alvin spent rather longer). Having saved on our lodgings last night, we felt able to splurge a little, and patronized the La Mia Tana pizzeria. Felt a need to try some lasagna bologna [7] (thanks to Garfield?), and also ate a couple of slices of pizza [8] that the others ordered. Went to the supermarket as the Catedral [9] was already closed to visitors for the day, though that didn't stop the birds from wheeling crazily about. I happily discovered that I had become more acclimatized to Europe, as my chapped lips recovered, and I got the hang of walking on cobblestones and nearly non-existent sidewalks. I also noticed little things that made me feel more at home, such as the generic white floor mats from Ikea that graced the toilets, and the MSI Wind netbook that a fellow Asian hostel guest was using in the lobby (he had a white case, though). There was even an English copy of Book Three of Jordan's The Wheel of Time series on the hostel's bookshelf, the sight of which was welcome by itself since I otherwise saw only Spanish translations of popular evergreen titles (including The Joy Luck Club and The Little Prince) in the bookstores.  Top: Barcelona. Bottom: SevillaAnd it seems like graffiti is an accepted way to publicize one's blog over here. Perhaps I should go down this route for free permanent advertising? 1 June  More personalities entered our lives, as dorm living worked its magic. After the usual sliced bread for breakfast, we met Amir, a Malaysian from Kuala Lumpur (who happened to be a Liverpool fan). We walked together to the Plaza de España, where we got separated as the three of us were beset by a group of girls holding clipboards purporting to record donations for "The Society For The Deaf And Blind". Being in a charitable (or perhaps careless) mood, I felt, why not, although on hindsight the circumstances pointed towards it being a Big Mistake. I rummaged about for some spare change from my Velcro-ed thigh pocket, and became slightly suspicious when they tried to convey that the minimum donation was 10 Euros; my reservations were, alas, substantiated when one of the waifs surreptitiously got a hand into that pocket and extracted a 50 Euro note, which would have disappeared had I not quickly snatched it back. If that were not enough, they began squabbling over the small denomination note I handed over to be rid of them, making it unlikely in the least that any unfortunate blind or deaf souls would be on the receiving end of any donations they received. Initially, I was angered by their ruse of preying upon kindness (instead of relying upon pure skill in pickpocketing), which would make it harder for legitimate charity volunteers to solicit donations in the future. However, on second thought, seeing that as a couple of them looked like they were pregnant, and the girl who tried to lift the fifty Euros was rather bad at it, I figured they probably could use the cash, and hopefully they were driven to it by need instead of choice. On further thought, the small-scale personalized human touch of their little scam is much preferable to huge impersonal ones like the old NKF, not to mention Ren Ci or Youth Challenge. Or the compulsory donations levied by schools and other organizations (i.e. you can refuse, just be prepared to be asked a lot a lot of questions). It really ain't that bad. Hopefully, the day when one can no longer reasonably believe in one's fellow man will never come. After that, we went on to the Catedral, passing by the Fabrica de Tabacos [1], where Bizet's Carmen was set, and policemen on horseback [2]. While the Catedral is the world's largest Gothic church, with the largest altarpiece, and third largest cathedral, I have to admit that it gets old after awhile (no pun intended). Stained glass, arches [3], statues, uh-huh, very good. The connected Giralda tower was something else, and it takes 34 flights of slopes to get to the top, where bells without whistles [4] and scenic views [5] await. We trekked along the river after that, passing by the bullfighting arena cum museum, Plaza de Toros [6], and ended up crossing three of the bridges [7]. Our intended destination was the Monastery of La Cartuja, which now also houses contemporary art, but unfortunately we did not realise that it was closed on Mondays - cerrado. Rested and headed back to the hostel, where we met Daniel, a South Carolinan finance student and ex-competitive swimmer from Clemson, who looked a bit older than his twenty years. He had been on exchange in Barcelona for some time (and is a Barca/Liverpool/Inter Milan fan), and did he have some stories to tell. We went out for tapas and ordered a 7-in-1 plate [8,9], where he spoke of his experience of being tear-gassed and shot at with rubber bullets in the wild celebrations after the Champions League final win in the streets of Barcelona, and also about how one of his professors is an announcer for the team. Not only that, he recounted how one of his friends had been pickpocketed twice in Barcelona, and mugged with a brick when drunk at 4 a.m. for good measure; how he once (barely) got into a group fight after celebrating a Super Bowl win; and why he arrived late at the hostel (because an old lady hit her head on the bus after the driver slammed on the brakes). Excellent company, though he stood us up for watching a flamenco dance, instead going for a smoke and a drink with a Frenchman (self-styled "God") on the rooftop terrace. We set off instead with a 26 year-old South Korean called Peter, who had studied English as his major in the USA. We once again failed to catch our planned attraction, as the bar had closed for the night, but the interaction made it all worthwhile. Peter even gave us a small bottle of Chinese Plum extract as a parting gift, which should go very well with the instant noodles we bought at the local Chinese supermarket.
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